A Very Different Year
by insaneprincess
Summary: Draco/Ginny. Harry's left to hunt for horcruxes, leaving Ginny alone and broken. But what if she finds that a certain Slytherin is dealing with his own pain, and can help her through hers?
1. Suicidal Thoughts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A Very Different Year**

It had been a very different day for Hogwarts.

All of the changes were to be expected, though, mused Draco Malfoy that evening at around midnight while wandering the corridors aimlessly. The Carrows working here – well Snape was Headmaster, what did anyone expect? He'd have Aurors as professors? He wouldn't admit it to anyone in the entire world, but he wasn't happy about all the changes Hogwarts had experienced over the summer. Well, Snape as Headmaster was fine, he supposed, but the Carrows were unnecessary. They just proved Voldemort was in complete control of the entire world. Not that everybody didn't already know that.

Things had gotten out of control. Way out of control. It was far too late to just say no to his father; to say no to all of the terrible things he'd been asked to do recently. Because the ugly mark on his left forearm mocked him, reminding him that he didn't have a choice, that there never had been a choice. This school, so unlike Hogwarts now after its changes, was the way he was supposed to think things should be run, was supposed to be something he enjoyed. He'd get the preferential treatment, after all. He was supposed to be _happy_.

He snorted.

Happiness was the last thing he was feeling right now. The train ride had been unbearable enough. His mother was the only one there to say goodbye at the Platform, real tears in her eyes. He knew that she hated this as much as he did. His father was attending to _business,_ which meant Death Eater activities. Besides, they would see each other before Christmas break. Draco would now need to be present at the _meetings_.

His life was horrible.

He had never expected to think that. He was a Malfoy, he deserved the best and he always got it. He had been raised to sneer at others and be arrogant and superior. He had been taught to think he was the best. But his life had taken a dramatic turn in the past year, an expected yet terrifying turn. He knew at some point this would occur, that his father would want him to follow in his footsteps. He hadn't expected it a year ago, however, when he was only sixteen, not even an adult. He hadn't expected his mother's silence; he thought she would stand up for him. Though, he had realized later, that she might not have even known that he hadn't wanted that. He'd hardly known himself.

She knew now.

He was sure a lot of the Death Eaters didn't think much of him, of how he cowered in fear before having to curse someone. He wasn't a murderer, not yet. He wanted so badly to refuse all of this, but he didn't know how. He would be killed if he did that, and if he didn't some innocent person would be. He felt really sick a lot lately. But that was normal.

He wished, foolishly, that he had said no, that he had been brave enough to face his father's wrath. He knew it was a stupid and irrational dream, and dangerous as Occlumency was not fool proof. But he wished he wasn't part of this and didn't have these problems. But he couldn't take it back, any of it, no matter how much he longed to. He couldn't take back how he had vowed to stay with this for life, his voice cracking at the words – whether from fear or sadness, he didn't know. He couldn't take back the pain as the mark was scorched onto his arm. He couldn't take back the fact that he had tortured people, that he was in on the most secretive plans in the world – plans of destruction, demolition, pain, and power. Unlimited power.

He'd never really known what he wanted to be when he grew up. It wasn't something he'd considered. When he was younger he would have wanted to be like his father, strong, rich, and admired. But now that he knew _why_ he was strong, rich, and admired, he really didn't want that lifestyle. But he didn't know what he _did_ want either. Not that there was any reason to consider it; he had no choice anymore. His future was set. There was no turning back.

It still upset him that Hogwarts was different. He thought this was a place where all the terrors, all of the Death Eater things couldn't touch him. He thought this was just a school, a home more than anything. A place where he belonged.

But it had been infiltrated, too. He felt a throb of fear just looking at the teacher's table, seeing them there. The Carrows. Having seen them on many other unpleasant occasions. Like sitting in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, worshiping Voldemort. Their _master._

The train ride had sucked. He had had to pretend that he was just thrilled with the changes Hogwarts was going through, that was what was expected of him. And he'd had to listen to Pansy talk eagerly about it (and him, a topic he deliberately avoided with her) all train ride. All the Slytherins were overjoyed at the prospect of Snape as Headmaster, and the Carrows as professors. Especially for Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies. They knew that these classes would be taught right, according to them. He couldn't believe he'd ever listened to any of them, that he'd been like that once. _They should make every Slytherin who thinks that life is great, that pureblood conquers all, into a Death Eater. Then they'll care about people, care about doing what's right_, he thought to himself. Because he was completely cured, he cared too much now. And it was a dangerous time to care.

Maybe that was why what happened that year, happened. Maybe that was why when he randomly strolled up the steps of the Astronomy Tower and found her at the top, he didn't call the Carrows to deal with her. Maybe he was getting soft. Maybe it didn't matter.

He had just wanted fresh air, and the Astronomy Tower was nearby, so he headed towards it. There was no way he'd get in trouble. Snape or the Carrows would never punish him. And the other teachers knew the punishment – the Cruciatus Curse. And they didn't want that for their students, not even him. The worst he'd get was a detention if he saw one of them. And they likely weren't out anyways, it was only the first night at school, nobody risked getting into trouble so early. But he couldn't sleep.

He didn't know what to do when he saw her standing there, the Gryffindor Weaslette. He didn't really have much against her, now that he was suddenly caring. It was just that she was a Weasley – dirt poor and red haired – and a Gryffindor, which pretty much amounted to the same thing. If you were a Weasley, you were a Gryffindor. Just like if you were a Malfoy, you were a Slytherin, he remembered with a jolt. But he didn't know how to deal with her presence. He had wanted to be alone.

"Weasley.'

She didn't turn to look at him, just stared at the stars, but he thought he saw her eyes narrow infinitesimally. "Malfoy."

He didn't know what to say to her. "The Carrows will Crucio you to within an inch of your life if they find you here, you know." Somehow his voice didn't sound the same to him, it was mocking, but not cruel. He wasn't really trying to be mean. Maybe she knew that, because her voice sounded gentler when she spoke, losing the small edge it had held before. "I don't particularly care."

There was a pause then. It wasn't really awkward; it was just that they didn't have anything to say to each other. Finally, not knowing why he asked her, "What are you thinking about?"

She didn't look at him, just gazed at the stars as she replied. "I'm contemplating suicide."

He gaped at her for a moment wordlessly. Although he knew suicide was not unheard of, seeing as he'd considered it quite often himself, it filled him with horror to just think about her throwing herself off the tower. This tower, where someone had died just last spring. A murder he'd almost been responsible for. That body, too, had been thrown unceremoniously off the tower.

He didn't understand why she would even consider it though. What was so terrible about her life? _She_ wasn't being told to torture and kill people. _She_ wasn't forced into a dark, horrible life she'd never chosen. _She_ didn't have nightmares every night about the demons that were about to take over the world. _She _wasn't a Death Eater._ She_ wasn't him.

"WHAT?!" He very nearly screamed when his voice returned. She still didn't turn, unsurprised by his reaction. "What the hell are you thinking? Are you mad? Why would you want to kill yourself?"

She finally turned to look at him acidly. Her voice was like ice. "Think hard enough and I'm sure you'll come up with something."

He just stared at her. She sighed and resumed staring at the stars. "I'm sure you've considered suicide once or twice, Malfoy, your life isn't exactly pleasant either."

He was shocked that she could guess his thoughts, but replied anyways. "That doesn't matter. You shouldn't even think of this. And I have … reasons… why I would think about it. You don't know a thing about my life."

She gave a Slytherin worthy smirk. "I can guess."

He didn't question her on that. "Why are _you_ thinking about suicide, then?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't have to answer to you."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't then, Weasley. See if I care."

"If you don't care, then why did you ask me in the first place?"

He froze for a moment and then whispered. "I don't know."

Their eyes met and she couldn't breathe for a second before she gave her response. "Great. When you figure it out, find me." It would have sounded better if her breathing wasn't somewhat irregular. But she didn't seem to care, because on that note, she turned on her heel and left the tower.


	2. Disappointment

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter. You think that would've changed, wouldn't you?

She didn't know what was wrong with her. Okay, that was a lie. She knew what was wrong with her, she just didn't know how to deal with it.

The pain was just so overwhelming that it hurt sometimes – not mentally or emotionally, both of which she was permanently scarred, but physically. Sometimes it was so much that it ached, this heavy feeling in her chest.

At first it had been tears and hysterics. But eating a pile of junk food and crying endlessly helped nothing so that had stopped pretty quickly after only a week or two. Then she was almost lethargic for a while. And now? Now she was nothing. Blank, empty. A shell of who she'd been. She couldn't remember that girl, and when she did, it didn't feel like her, but some other exuberant, affectionate, fiery girl. Someone with personality. Someone with a life. Something she was seriously lacking as of late.

Especially considering how she had spent last night on the Astronomy Tower, thinking about suicide, having a halfway civil conversation with Draco Malfoy.

She was Ginny Weasley – whoever that was anymore. Ginny Weasley didn't spend midnight of her first day back at Hogwarts atop the Astronomy Tower being even somewhat polite to Malfoy. So if she wasn't Ginny Weasley, who was she?

She was nobody, that was who. A broken, shattered person perhaps, but someone so broken that there was no way that they could ever return and look at life the same way again. She knew she couldn't. But maybe it was because she was so alone. Luna and Neville were the only friends she had now. She'd effectively ruined any hopes of friendship with Dean (ahem) last year, or any of his friends. And the three people that she wanted to see most could be dead for all she knew.

Bill and Fleur's wedding had not gone according to plan. With Scrimgeour dead and Voldemort having successfully infiltrated the Minstry, the law was no longer on their side. So they were no longer safe. Ron, Hermione, and…Harry – it hurt to even think his name – had left, disapparating quickly, and she knew nothing about where they were, or if they were even alive. She cared about them all so much, and one was faking a deadly illness, one was on the list of muggleborns that didn't show up for trial, and one had thousands of galleons as a reward over his head, while they all attempted to kill the most powerful dark wizard _ever_. And they were all seventeen and hadn't even finish school. Her brother, her best friend, and, well, her soul mate. The boy she loved with all her heart. And they were very likely going to die.

Yeah, life wasn't looking so great right now.

She'd known she wasn't going to commit suicide, not really. This pain – being without him, not knowing if he was okay… and of course if Ron and Hermione were alright, too – was overwhelming, but she couldn't die. She could just imagine him seeing that article in the prophet, and giving up. If he still cared like that. She never understood how the amazing Harry Potter could love her – _her_. It didn't make any sense.

But he had and that just made it worse. Because she knew he cared and was in as much pain as she was. Because they couldn't see each other, because she couldn't know if he was alive. And because this was going to end in a battle, a war. And they didn't know if they would come out of it alive. It was terrible enough that the months, or how ever long it was, until the war, they could not spend together. He wouldn't tell her what was going on, what he was risking his life to do. He would just leave her, cold and empty, wondering if he would ever return.

What a cheery thought.

But there was nothing else to think about the first day of classes. Because Harry was the root of everything – he was attempting to end all of _this_. The classes tormented her this way, reminding her of him in a very bittersweet way. Because the classes were torture. They weren't hard; it was just the constant knowledge that Voldemort was controlling everything, that they were all just pawns in his games. The Carrows were awful, but they were Death Eaters, what else was she supposed to expect?

Her mind drifted, then, to the night before in a desperate ploy to not think about Harry. It worked, too. She was so confused about what had happened that it drowned out all other thought. It didn't appear that Malfoy had told anyone that she had been up at midnight, thinking about suicide. Although that mean confessing that he had actually had a conversation with her. Still, he had been almost nice to her, last night. He had seemed actually concerned when she had told him she was thinking about suicide. _Although,_ she mused, _it was probably because he would be blamed for murder if I did jump. Maybe I should have, then. _But she knew that reason was not, well, reasonable.

She didn't really get Malfoy anymore. She had thought she understood him; he was just an annoying, arrogant, rich prick who thought he was king of the world. But then he had gotten his task last year. And although she had tried to hate him for it, for being a _Death Eater_, she couldn't manage it.

Because it didn't seem like it was his choice. Because he had lowered his wand. Because he couldn't kill Dumbledore. Others had overlooked this, blaming him and Snape. But she had felt, well, sorry for him. He hadn't wanted this, she was fairly sure. So, instead, she hated him for being frustrating, arrogant, stuck up and whiny and always insulting her and her family. Well, he insulted all of the Gryffindors, really. But her family was insulted more often than others. Not that it was even remotely hurtful to her anymore. The insults were getting old, the impact fading. So what if he thought they were poor? They weren't as well off as him, but they were happy. Wasn't that what truly counted?

As though there was any happiness anymore.

Things had changed, that was quite apparent. Hogwarts was a perfect example. And when she'd been home during the remainder of August, she'd heard snippets of news about the Ministry, from her dad. And it was an example, too. Things were being run differently, changing all at once. _Who was behind that? _She wondered sarcastically.

They were going through those shadowy years when Voldemort controlled the wizarding world. It had occurred sixteen years ago, and it was happening now.

So suicide didn't sound altogether unreasonable. The boy she loved had left her. Hogwarts was under the control of Death Eaters and punishment was the Cruciatus curse. Dumbledore was dead, and hope was dead with him. The whole world was being taken over by the darkest wizard in history. Her normal, boring life as Ginny Weasley was over. Not that she felt like the same normal, boring Ginny Weasley anymore.

She ate dinner that evening without noticing what she was eating. Her eyes drifted, unwillingly, to the Slytherin table. It was stupid to see what he was doing, to watch him. But she was confused by their earlier conversation and his civility. She wanted to know why he was even halfway nice to her. But it was probably because he thought she was mental, suicidal. She supposed in some ways she was. Mental? Well, she had mental issues, certainly. Suicidal? She supposed that thinking of jumping off the Astronomy Tower, actually considering it, counted as suicidal, so yes.

It was then that he turned and his eyes flicked to the Gryffindor table. And, accidentally she assured herself, their eyes met.

His expression was unreadable. There was something there, in his eyes, in his blank face, devoid of emotion, she knew. There was frustration, perhaps, in his eyes. And surprise, of course, because he'd caught her staring at him. Something that should have made her blush and look away. But she didn't remember emotion, especially not embarrassment. So she didn't turn, just continued to stare at him and analyse his expression. All of his thoughts seemed to be hidden, though, and well. She knew how to wear a mask, to put up a wall that people couldn't get past. His calm façade didn't faze her, however. She just wondered what was beneath his nonchalant, casually blank expression. She was just randomly wondering what he was thinking. Right.

She had no idea what her own expression was. Probably blank. She didn't show emotion anymore. It wasn't like him, she wasn't afraid to show feeling. She had used to be very open with her feelings, and very sensitive. But that had been a while ago. Now she just felt blank and empty all the time. She didn't feel anything anymore. She was numb.

After dinner, she didn't know where to go. The Common Room was filled with happy, chattering people who might want to talk to her. But she wouldn't talk to them. They didn't know how things worked yet. She wasn't herself, and she wasn't talking to anybody, no matter how trivial the subject of conversation was. It had only been one day here so far, though, so the Gryffindors were unaware of this. But that was okay. They would learn soon enough.

So she headed to the library with a mound of homework. She hadn't paid attention at all in class, so she wasn't even sure what she was learning. Her head was clouded with unpleasant thoughts: like the fact the one real conversation she'd had in the past few days – other than polite and stiff hellos and her goodbye to her parents at the train station – had been with Draco Malfoy. Not that she'd really said anything of consequence… but still the fact unnerved her a bit.

When the library closed late that night, she attempted to convince herself to go to the common room and go to bed. But she knew, subconsciously, that it was a lost cause. She'd known, all day really, that she was going back, for some bizarre reason. She couldn't justify it, even to herself. But it was strangely tempting, and she had nothing better to do.

That didn't mean that it wasn't irrational and absurd to want to go there. She had only gone the night before to think about suicide. It was fitting, in a dark way. Dumbledore had been killed and thrown off of the tower that spring. So why couldn't she kill herself by throwing herself off the tower? Cause of death? Suicide. Reason? Living in this dark world, and heartbreak.

It was getting near to midnight, approximately the time that they'd met last night. She was sort of weirdly looking forward to seeing him, Draco Malfoy. It made no sense, really. But it was likely because he had actually gotten her to talk to him, he was different that way. It was stupid to want to return, but she couldn't turn around.

When she reached the top of the tower, it was empty. There was an odd rush of relief and frustration at once. She walked to the edge of the tower, nevertheless, and stared at the stars, trying to be patient.

She didn't know how long it was that she waited, but if she had to guess it was probably a half hour or forty-five minutes. By then, she realized he simply wasn't coming.

She was suddenly angry with herself. Of_ course_ he wasn't coming. It wasn't like it was some sort of tradition for them to meet up there, and she obviously hadn't asked him to return. And last night she'd snapped at him and talked easily about suicide. She wasn't the best company; she knew that. He wouldn't _want_ to come back. Why would he? And, better question, why did she want him to?

So, still angry with herself, she turned once again and exited the tower, feeling a strange sense of disappointment.


	3. Look Who Showed Up

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

He didn't know why exactly, but he avoided the place like the plague. For an entire week, other than the class itself, he managed to stay away from the Astronomy Tower. It should have been easier to avoid a random place in the castle. It wasn't necessary to be up there, he reminded himself. And he didn't really understand why he wanted to go up there anyway.

But he felt an odd magnetism to the place. He had this bizarre, unexplainable urge to go there again, as irrational and downright stupid that was.

If he was brutally honest, it had a good deal to do with the fact that he would see her again. It sounded pathetic, when worded that way, so he had to clarify to himself. She intrigued him. She was a mystery, begging to be solved. He still didn't know why she had been considering suicide. Or still was.

What he also didn't understand was the fact that he hadn't told anyone. He kept asking himself why he hadn't. It was something the Slytherins would love to snicker over. And maybe that was it. The idea of her thinking about suicide was amusing, and he would've laughed, too. But seeing her there, on the edge of the tower, honestly thinking about it wasn't funny at all – it was downright scary. But maybe it was because he had seen too many dark and terrible things in the past year.

So he stayed far from the tower after that night. Although he didn't really expect her to be there, he didn't really want to see that, either. It was shockingly hard to look at her acting so blank and detached, so unlike the Ginny Weasley he remembered. The girl he hadn't actually minded all that much. In fact, if she hadn't been a poor, Gryffindor blood traitor, he could've actually wanted to be her friend. She had been so fiery and shockingly Slytherin like. Her devious smirk had rivalled his own. But those days were over.

So it was very nearly painful to watch a broken, defeated girl consider throwing herself from the tower, knowing she could do it any moment and then it would be over. She would be over.

He understood the urge for suicide in this bitter, shadowy world, even if he didn't know her reasons. _His_ reasons actually made a lot of sense. Either he died, or eventually some innocent person did, at his hand. He couldn't go through with murder. He could hardly Crucio someone. Killing them? Impossible.

He was a Death Eater. Not some innocent, pure seventeen year old. He was tainted. He could go to Azkaban. And he was sure that when this was over, if it was ever over, he would be carted off to Azkaban like the rest of the Death Eaters. Like he was sadistic and murderous, too. Like he had wanted this. Like he had chosen this. Like he wasn't suffering every moment with overwhelming depression, because of the horrid black ink on his left forearm. He was branded for life. There was no way out of this. Azkaban or death. Well, honestly, he would prefer death. Would they give him that favour though?

But she didn't have any of these problems. There was no reason for _her_ to think of suicide. She was a Gryffindor, protected by the Order, no doubt, perfectly safe. The terrible darkness this world was living in was enough of a reason for depression, he understood, but nobody else was up there thinking about jumping off the tower, were they?

Classes were different this year, as well. They seemed a lot darker, and reminded him of his Death Eater training. After all, these were Death Eaters teaching them. Unforgivable curses were now quite forgivable – and encouraged. Punishment was the Cruciatus curse nowadays. And he was supposed to enjoy that?

He was acting, he knew. It was shocking how everything he had been raised to enjoy – torture, coercion, and murder – was really horrifying when witnessed. It was strange that he didn't enjoy it like he was supposed to. But he wore his mask and claimed that he was happy. He was a Death Eater. Why _wasn't _he happy?

Well, it might have something to do with the fact that he hadn't chosen this, hadn't wanted this. Hated this.

His life at school was boring, though. Everything around him reminded him of what he was, about the promises he'd made. And Hogwarts was where he'd thought he could escape.

He hardly listened in class; he didn't need to. He knew all of this. He knew he was the only one in his year – in the whole school – who had the "honour" of getting the mark so early. Of becoming the Dark Lord's devoted follower before he had even left school. It was something extremely rare. But he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys always got the best. If this was to be considered the best.

And some sadistic people – all Death Eaters, surely – thought this was the best. Thought that this was what he had wanted. Hadn't he though? He'd thought it was different – the glamorous life his father described it to be. Faithfully serving his master. Except he'd made it sound much better. Like it was a prize, something everyone would long for. So he'd been naïve enough and gullible enough to listen to his father. Was that a crime? No. But being a Death Eater was. When had they amounted to the same thing?

People thought that he wanted this. But the truth was that he simply hadn't had any choice. His father had decided that this was what he would do with his life. And, at first, when he'd only had a vague idea of what being a Death Eater entailed, he'd wanted it, too. The worst thing was knowing he had said his vows willingly. He had been eager to prove himself, to start to live the glamorous life his father had promised.

He had been scammed.

So, he knew now what this meant. And when he'd known at the beginning, he hadn't cared. He had liked joining up – he liked the power, the influence he'd had over the Slytherins, whom had all known about the mark on his arm. He'd liked being in control.

He'd regarded the mission as a project, nothing more. He hadn't really thought about the idea of his Headmaster dead – he would have had to stop. He had been surprised by the horror of it all – he hadn't thought he would care if the old fool were dead. But he had soon realized that this life was not for him. But he had no choice. So he pretended. So he faked his way through the rest of his sixth year, and the summer. And here he was, faking it again. Always pretending.

He wandered the halls, a week into September. A week after he'd seen Ginny atop the tower at midnight. He still found it odd that he hadn't turned her over to the Carrows. He could have pretended he was doing his rounds as Head Boy. Nobody would have questioned him. They wouldn't have dared.

But he hated the punishments, the torture. He told himself that that was why. And it was partly true.

But honestly she was suffering enough as it was, if she was considering suicide. Why should he add to her pain?

He couldn't stand the Slytherin Common Room these days, so he stayed in his own Head Common Room. The Slytherins were all too happy about the changes to the school – about the Carrows. They wouldn't understand how wrong everything was until they had a snake and skull branded on their arms and were told to coerce and torture. To kill.

Or maybe they would still enjoy that. Maybe they would still think it was right. Maybe it was just him – the compassionate Death Eater. What a joke.

Maybe there was something wrong with him for not enjoying this. He was a Malfoy – practically their leader. And he didn't enjoy everything he had been worshiping for years. For his whole life. What the hell was wrong with him?

And to further prove this point, he _wasn't_ asking himself what was wrong with him. He was instead, without really thinking about it, asking what was wrong with them.

He'd gone mad.

So that, he reasoned – the fact that he was mad – could be used as his excuse for heading up the Astronomy Tower that night.

He didn't know why he'd done it, either. He'd left the Library late, and it was nearing midnight. Past curfew. And he hadn't decided to consciously go back to the tower. But his feet lead him there, while he was powerless to stop himself. If he wanted to. He didn't know whether he did or not.

He was just curious, he reasoned with himself. He was simply wondering if she was still there. Wasn't it his concern if she had readily admitted that she was thinking of suicide? Wasn't he supposed to stop that from happening?

So he didn't know if he was surprised to see her standing there, atop the tower, gazing at the stars again. But she must have heard his footsteps, because she turned then. And what she said definitely surprised him.

"Look who showed up."

He did a double take. "Were you expecting me, Weasley?"

She smiled a half smile. "No, not really. I knew you were too cowardly to come back. How on earth would you deal with a suicidal maniac such as myself?"

He could tell the words were joking, but there was a layer of truth under them. She _was_ suicidal. And very possibly a maniac. At least that was what he thought. And he knew that some part of her believed that too.

"What a strange coincidence that we returned on the same night."

She looked at him blankly. "Coincidence? I've come here every night this week."

He was shocked, but he covered it. "Desperate to see me again, Weasley?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Malfoy. Any girl would have to be out of their mind to be desperate to see you. I don't know why I kept coming. I just did. It's easier to think up here."

"About suicide, still?" he said mockingly.

"Possibly." Her tone was serious.

He wondered why that stung. Just because she hadn't done it yet didn't mean it had gone away in a week, he reminded himself. She still felt the strange urge to end her own life.

"Why throw yourself off a tower?" he asked in a light-hearted voice, still mocking. "You could just turn your wand on yourself. So much quicker and simpler."

She rolled her eyes. "That has no class. And I'm not likely to commit suicide anytime soon, really. Just thinking about it. So don't hold your breath."

He didn't understand the flicker of relief inside of him. "I wouldn't wish for it Weasley. No matter how horribly you think of me, I'm not that cruel." He didn't know why he was being honest. He was supposed to approve of her suicide, not fear it. He was very screwed up he knew, but he hadn't thought he was this soft.

She stared at him for a moment, as astonished as he was by the words that had fallen from his lips. She seemed to question them for a moment before accepting the fact that Draco Malfoy, who supposedly hated her, didn't want her dead. He had to admit, it sounded weird even to him.

And he was surprised that he would honestly choose the word supposedly. He supposedly hated her. But he didn't now. He didn't hate anything he was supposed to. He instead hated his father for lying to him and forcing him into this. Although, he might not have been lying, and actually believed that this life was perfect. That it was great fun to torture and kill. He also hated Voldemort, obviously. The power hungry maniac who had gotten him into this mess. Gotten him stuck in the life he hadn't wanted.

"I didn't know you could care Malfoy."

"I don't care."

"Well, I don't really care if you do or not. But I am surprised. I would have thought that you would have found the idea of Ginny Weasley, all alone atop the Astronomy Tower, thinking of suicide amusing. You would have in the past."

He was surprised at her bluntness. She was very forward with her thoughts. "I didn't understand anything then. I was a naïve little child. I've grown up since then. I understand the world now. I understand how unfair life is. I'm used to it now. I know I've got no choices anymore." Right then he realized he'd said too much, and shut up. He knew she noticed, but she didn't comment.

"I agree. I've seen my share of pain. And I know about limited choices as well as you do. That's why I'm stuck here."

"You don't want to be at Hogwarts right now?"

She laughed a harsh, unfamiliar laugh. "I don't think anyone except the Slytherins want to be here. Everything's changed – for the worse. But there's nothing we can do. And nothing I can do. I could be somewhere making a difference, but instead I'm stuck here, doing nothing. Pretending to study. As if they're teaching us anything that isn't biased and wrong."

He was shocked at her rant. Did she remember that she was talking to a Death Eater, A Malfoy? A Slytherin that apparently approved of all these changes? He was also surprised that he agreed with everything she said. Because he didn't want this either.

But he wasn't allowed to feel that way. He wasn't allowed to reveal these forbidden thoughts. So before he did something rash and stupid, he knew he had to leave.

"It's getting quite late." And it was, he could see form his watch. "We should go to bed. We have to get up early in the morning."

"Okay," she said evenly. But her next words nearly made his jaw drop. "Will I see you here tomorrow night?"

He really couldn't believe that she had said that. And now was the easiest moment to snub her, when she had just become so vulnerable. But he liked the idea of returning more than he should, and he couldn't say no. Except he should say no. And he had no good reason to say yes.

"Yes."


	4. How Was Your Day?

Disclaimer: Don't own it, Don't own it.

A/N: I haven't updated in a bit, as I've been getting ready for back to school (oh joy). But I have been working on this story -- outlining it (chapters, plot). It's going to be a long one, but I like the ideas so I'm going to keep chipping away at it.

She didn't know why she'd said it.

It was so strange that those words had fallen from her lips, and she was sure she wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't heard it herself. She hadn't thought it through, she didn't remember even considering the faintest possibility of saying something like that. "Will I see you tomorrow night?" And in that moment she had expected his all too familiar smirk, or a sneer and nasty remark. But he had said the most unexpected thing, other than what she had just asked. He had said yes. _Yes._

The entire conversation had left her dizzy the rest of the way back to Gryffindor Tower. And when she fruitlessly attempted to fall asleep, she couldn't despite the late hour. Her head was too full of the conversation that evening and everything that had happened. It was the strangest thing.

So when she'd awoken, bags under her eyes and late for breakfast, she'd still been in a daze from the earlier evening. At least no one bothered to attempt to talk to her. They were starting to learn.

But she could hardly focus in class, either. Not because the classes were boring and half of the facts they were told were lies (after all, who would listen to a Death Eater's opinions of Muggles? _That_ wasn't biased at all.), but because she was distracted by what she would be doing that night at midnight.

No, it wasn't as bad as it sounded. It wasn't really like she was looking forward to seeing Malfoy or anything, it was really that she was amused by the way things were. She was going to the Astronomy Tower at midnight to meet Draco Malfoy and chat civilly about suicide and Hogwarts, among other things. It sounded ridiculous, even to her. She was having a midnight rendezvous with Draco Malfoy. Unbelievable.

Although, in a strange way, she _was_ looking forward to it. He seemed to understand her – unlike everyone else. And she could have a decent conversation with him, which was definitely different. In fact, he seemed very different than the annoying, whiney prat she had formerly regarded him as. She knew he'd grown up, matured, even if it was for dark reasons she didn't want to think of. It was too easy to forget what he was. It was so much easier that way.

But she should remind herself that it was mad, and very possibly dangerous, to meet a Death Eater at midnight. She could just imagine Harry spewing out pointless warnings.

But she could only imagine that, as Harry wasn't anywhere near her. And she was sick of listening to what Harry would tell her to do.

Harry would tell her to be obedient while he left and saved the world. Harry would tell her to forget he was risking his life every minute, and be normal and go to school and act as though nothing had changed. When everything had changed. Harry would tell her that he had to leave her, and that she should just deal with it. And that if he was still alive after everything (although he seemed to forget that – he assumed that _of course_ he'd be perfectly fine) they would be together and everything would be perfect.

Right.

Well all of that was easier said than done. She had been obedient and brainless, but she couldn't pretend that that was for him. She was just in shock, and pain, and that was how she dealt with it. By being numb.

But there was a new part of her, too. She seemed harsher and bitterer than before, if she did speak. She noticed it atop the tower, talking to Malfoy. She wasn't herself anymore. Deranged by grief and shock, she had matured quite quickly into this sharp, cold, bitter girl that she hardly recognized. It was her, she knew, but not the same her as before all of this mess. Before, she'd been feisty, lively, bubbly and bold. Now she hid behind a wall. No one talked to her, because she wouldn't respond. And the one person who had broken through her defences had found a very different Ginny Weasley behind them.

So the fact that she'd changed into this bitter ghost of herself must have been the reason she was entertaining the absurd idea the she was, even just slightly, looking forward to meeting Draco Malfoy that evening.

Maybe it was because he seemed to be suffering, too, in his own pain, that made her want him to come back. Maybe it was because he seemed to, shockingly, care. Or maybe it was because he had been alarmingly honest last night, and had seemed to agree with her on many counts. Too many counts for a Death Eater. But he didn't seem like a Death Eater. He just seemed like a person. A boy who'd had to grow up too fast, and had seen too much of the world. He had seen things he would never forget, she was sure. Things that he wished he could forget. Maybe she still believed he hadn't wanted this, no matter what had happened. She didn't know anymore.

At any rate, if she was brutally honest with herself, which she hated being, she was looking forward to seeing him again. Their conversations and awkward meetings were at least an event in her blank and boring life. She did nothing, said nothing, felt nothing. At least when she talked to him, she came alive. Even if it was being harsh and bitter. At least she was doing something, saying something, feeling something. Anything.

That was why she couldn't wait for midnight.

Classes seemed to go in slow motion, however, leaving her bored out of her mind. There was nothing to think about but what would happen that evening. And that was a place that was dangerous for her mind to go. Because then she might start anticipating their meeting far too much. She was enjoying the idea of it quite a lot already. And that was strange enough.

Classes were also boring enough that she very nearly fell asleep throughout them. She was staying up quite late now, and not getting nearly enough sleep. But she couldn't make herself care. She was hardly functioning anyway, what was the loss of a couple hours of sleep to her?

Midnight couldn't come quick enough.

She scarfed down her dinner in a rush. She would head to the library for a while and work on homework, before meeting him atop the tower. It was stupid how excited she felt.

But homework could hardly occupy her attention either. She had paid no attention in class, and she knew she was hardly passing nowadays. But she couldn't find it in herself to care. Hogwarts wasn't really Hogwarts these days as it was. So the Order – and her parents – would think it was all the Death Eaters fault she was doing so poorly. Because of something like she was refusing to insult muggles. When instead here she was writing all this drivel she didn't believe in. She believed she had written the sentence "Muggles are animals" at least five times.

She was just keeping a low profile. She hadn't got detention once this entire week – which would have startled her when she was herself. But she said nothing and did nothing even somewhat disobedient. So she was punishment free, and had no scars to show for it.

Of course, she was sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower every night at midnight to talk to Draco Malfoy. She supposed that counted as disobedient both to the Order (she was meeting Malfoy) and the school (she was sneaking out after curfew). Not that Malfoy had shown up all week. He'd only come up last night. For which, she was shockingly grateful.

She told herself it was just because it was something to occupy the time. That it was just because he talked to her, unlike everyone else. That it was because she needed something to do. She didn't believe herself.

She nearly raced to the tower that night, so she was surprised to find him there already. He must have come early she mused. For some reason that fact made her want to smile. Something she hadn't done in months. She'd had nothing to smile about.

She remembered then that she'd given him a half smile, a dry smile that was almost a smirk, that first night, a week ago. Only he seemed to make her want to grin these days. The thought was almost scary.

"Hello Malfoy," she said cheerfully. Her voice was almost musical.

He turned, and though she was sure he'd heard her footsteps, he looked surprised. "I didn't expect you to come so early Weasley. It isn't even midnight yet."

She smirked. "That gives us more time." She paused then, slightly unsure. "I didn't expect you so early either Malfoy, you were here before me. Eager to see me?" she taunted.

He shrugged. "Maybe," he responded with a wry grin.

She raised her eyebrows; that wasn't the reply she'd expected. She'd thought of something along the lines of a sneer and him scoffing that he'd never be eager to see dirt like her. She needed to stop judging him. It just made him surprise her at every turn.

"So… How was your day?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You want to know about my day Weasley?"

"Isn't that what I just asked?"

He stared at her. "Why?"

She shrugged. "What else is there to talk about? And, besides, isn't that what people ask each other when they're being friendly and civil…"

He swallowed. "Um, okay. I woke up, I ate, I went to class, I ate, I went to class, I ate, I avoided Pansy, I went to the Head's Common Room, I came here. And yours Weasley?"

She smirked. "About the same. Boring as hell. And class is so dull; I can hardly focus these days. I'm guaranteed I'm failing. But it doesn't really matter anymore. Nothing does."

He spoke mockingly. "Yeah. The only reasons I'm not failing are that 1. I'm head boy. 2. I'm a Slytherin. 3. I'm a Malfoy. And 4. I'm a Death Eat—" He stopped then. She knew he'd realized what he'd been about to say, and what he wasn't allowed to say, even if everybody already knew. He couldn't tell her any of it, and she understood that. And besides, he seemed ashamed of everything on his list. Like he didn't want to be a Slytherin, the Head Boy, or get privileges because he was a Malfoy. And she was sure that he got many, many privileges here.

The silence lay between them, thick and heavy. She didn't know how to break it, and she knew he felt the same. He just showed his power, but also, somehow, his vulnerability. He didn't seem proud of the list he'd just shared, which she knew was private information. She was part of the Order, after all, and as he had just admitted, he was a Death Eater. He couldn't tell these secrets. Pleasant conversation was one thing, but this was on another level, and she knew that.

She cleared her throat. "Um… have you told anyone about coming here?"

He seemed grateful for the change of topic, but puzzled by her question. "No, of course not. Why? I mean… have you?"

Even as he said those words, she knew he didn't believe them. She had no one to tell, and he knew that. "Well, I think we should keep these meetings secret, is all. I can't imagine the trouble I would be in if anyone found out."

She knew that he knew she meant the Order and her family when she said 'anyone'.

He nodded. "Of course. I couldn't tell anyone – think of the Slytherins' reaction for a minute, would you? And then who else would there be to tell? Snape. Oh there's a great idea. 'Hey Headmaster, can I interrupt you for a moment? I just thought I should mention that I'm meeting Ginny Weasley on the Astronomy Tower at midnight, no matter how mad that sounds. Okay, you can go back to your work.' I think he'd have a heart attack. Oh and Father would be _so_ supportive of this brilliant idea. Well, if he knew, he'd tell me to Avada you right now. And I'm sorry, since I know of your suicide plans, but you're going to have to find another way to kill yourself, cause I sure as hell am not doing it for you."

It was the longest rant she'd heard him say that hadn't been insulting to her. Well maybe the comment on suicide was, but she found it more teasing than anything. But his speech left her with her mouth hanging open.

She hadn't realized the danger he was going through, coming here. It had seemed so simple and innocent, but she knew now that it had likely been a much more difficult decision for him. Her parents would disapprove, sure, if they knew what she was doing, but they wouldn't tell her to kill him! And she knew that he was in just as much danger. He _was_ a Death Eater. He'd be tortured to within an inch of his life if they found out…

It had never really been a risk for her to come here. But now she understood why he had avoided the place, other than the fact that he had thought she was out of her mind. He was in danger, and putting her in danger being here. But somehow, she couldn't really care.

"Say something."

She looked up, surprised, to see him staring at her deeply with his stormy grey eyes. He looked frustrated at her silence, and she almost felt flustered for a moment. "I'm sorry. I just realized how dangerous this is for you. I should probably leave. I know now how wrong this is. I'm really sorry."

As she started to stand, though, he caught her arm. "Don't leave."

She stared at him, perplexed. "Why not?"

He sighed. "Because I waited for you to come for over an hour, even though I knew I was amazingly early. Because I thought about this all day long. Because I couldn't focus on anything except midnight. Because I wanted to see you. Because I _want_ to see you. And I didn't wait all day to see you for fifteen minutes and let you leave."

She gaped at him wordlessly for a moment and then abruptly sat back down. "Uh… okay. Well… as I was saying a while ago, I think we should keep this secret. I mean it's mad enough that we're meeting here, but if I'm honest like you were…" She was blushing by this point. "Well, I've been thinking about this pretty much all day, too."

His eyes seemed to sparkle in amusement at this point. "Good."

She sighed. "So… uh… what do you want to talk about?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

She bit her lip. "So, um, how was your day?"


	5. First Name Basis

Disclaimer: You know what makes me really, really, really, really sad? I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I know I haven't updated in a bit – but this has been the first week of school, and has been crazy and hectic. I also sort of lost Draco's train of thought after the first paragraph. But I like how it turned out. Enjoy! R&R!

When he awoke, Draco yawned blearily. He had been up quite late the night before. And the strangest part about that was that he hadn't been alone. He often wandered the corridors at night – he had privileges as Head Boy – but always alone. He had spent last night, however, talking very late with Ginny Weasley.

Of course it was mad.

And what was the very worst part about it? He had – dare he say it – _enjoyed _it.

Oh he was screwed for sure.

As he walked to breakfast in a trance, all he could think about was last night. He didn't care if he was tired; it would be easier to endure class that way – lethargic. But his own words were the ones echoing in his mind. _"Because I waited for you to come for over an hour, even though I knew I was amazingly early. Because I thought about this all day long. Because I couldn't focus on anything except midnight. Because I wanted to see you. Because I want to see you. And I didn't wait all day to see you for fifteen minutes and let you leave."_

He was shocked at himself for saying that. He had likely surprised himself more than her by the depth of the words spilling from his mouth. He couldn't control them, hadn't even thought them before they were pouring from his mouth. Yet, the moment they were there, hanging in the heavy air between them, he was sure of their honesty. They were embarrassing, definitely, as he was basically telling her that he couldn't stop thinking about her. And no matter how true that was, it was still fairly mortifying. And he didn't want her to take it the wrong way either.

He didn't understand it really, himself, why she compelled him so much. Maybe it was because she seemed to actually comfort him, and actually be in a lot of pain herself. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed able to pull the secrets from his mind, without even meaning to. She was the only one who had ever been able to read him, to understand when he was faking everything. She seemed to see past the wall he put up. A wall that he'd believed infallible. But he was wrong. As always.

And he was sure about the secrets. He visibly shuddered as he remembered what he'd almost told her last night. Of course she was observant, and he was sure she knew what he had begun to say. He'd almost told her what he was sure she already knew. He was a Death Eater.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him as he shuddered again. He swallowed quickly and lied. "It's so bloody drafty in here in the mornings. I hate this stupid castle. I could be in so many better places right now." He rolled his eyes and Blaise seemed appeased.

It was such a stupid charade. But Malfoys were supposed to brag and be happy with their power. He was supposed to really be thrilled with the idea of being in 'so many better places'. Places like Voldemort's right side.

Did he mention he hated his life?

No, he didn't really believe that anymore. He knew what had made that difference, though, and it scared him.

But was it really that terrible that Ginny Weasley was the reason he didn't particularly hate his life anymore?

Uh, yes it was.

It was just that she was so interesting. She was very different than he'd supposed she was, and maybe it was because she wasn't following the Golden Trio around that made her more appealing than before.

He'd always seen her one way. The shallow girl who obsessed over Potter and tagged along after the threesome like a lost puppy. But he had been so off mark, it wasn't even funny.

She was _deep_. She was thoughtful and compassionate and completely different than he had assumed. She was _good_. And he wasn't.

But he couldn't help spending his breakfast thinking about her, and seeing her in his mind. He saw her eyes, so deep and chocolate brown. He'd never paid any attention to her before, never looked in her eyes other than to insult her. He'd never pushed the natural prejudices away and simply looked.

He was looking now.

Pansy interrupted him for something or another – he didn't know, he wasn't paying any attention to her. But in that moment as he looked at her, he saw _her _eyes. Pansy had brown eyes. He'd never noticed before.

Of course the brown eyes reminded him of another, certainly more significant pair of brown eyes, leading him to another whirlwind of thoughts. But staring at Pansy's brown eyes, he saw how dull and shallow they were, a mirror of her personality. The very window to her soul.

Could it be the same for anyone else's eyes? Namely one Ginny Weasley?

Oh yes, he was pathetic.

He didn't know why he was thinking about her eyes, other than the fact that they might solve the mystery that was she. He didn't get her at all, and though he didn't know why, he wanted to. Maybe, just maybe, if he understood her, he'd understand himself.

He couldn't stop himself any longer. He'd been carefully looking only at his plate and the Slytherins, avoiding the Gryffindor scrupulously with his eyes. But he really needed to know if she was there, if she was looking at him, if she was as shocked and yet happy about last night as he was. And so, with an inward feeling of release, he raised his view to the Gryffindor table.

And promptly met her gaze. Surprisingly, he didn't look away. He couldn't. There was something about her eyes; even seeing them from across the Great Hall in a forbidden moment of … what was it? What were they? Acquaintances? Maybe. Friends? Possible. Did a few forbidden meetings atop the tower count towards that? He didn't know. He'd never really had a real friend. He didn't know the rules of friendship.

He headed to class in a daze. His thoughts were all about her and the prior evening. And, suddenly, he was realizing just how dangerous it was.

He was a Death Eater, and she was an Order member, and he had no intent of killing her. So there was definitely going to be hell to pay if anyone ever found out. But they'd agreed to keep this secret, and for some reason, he trusted her.

And he really didn't want to stop going to see her.

Wow, that sounded sad. But it was like therapy for him – cleansing his mind. Or perhaps it was more like a drug. It was addictive to keep going. Dangerously addictive.

But he couldn't stop if he tried. But he didn't try. There was no point.

He stumbled through that day in a daze. His thoughts were never focused on the lessons – he had too much else on his mind. But that was okay. Why would he want to listen to the lessons?

He was impatient all day long, and could hardly keep from fidgeting throughout dinner. He was anticipating that evening all together too much. It was surely completely unhealthy for him to be so wrapped up around meeting her. It was absolutely mad. But he wouldn't change it for the world.

He was hours early of midnight, and he knew that. But there was nowhere else to go. And he wanted to be there – their place – to think. Besides, she'd been early yesterday; she could be today.

And she was.

When she entered the tower, he didn't hear her footsteps. It was only her voice that alerted him to her presence. "Hey."

He turned, grinning. "Hey."

Smirking slightly she continued. "How was your day?"

He grinned. "Boring as hell."

"Same."

She walked to the edge of the tower and leaned on the ledge, staring wistfully at the stars. He spoke first. "I don't really know why, Weasley, but I've been thinking about this almost all d—"

She cut him off. "Ginny."

He was confused. "What?"

She turned and looked at him with the big brown eyes he'd been thinking about all day. "My name is Ginny."

He looked at her, bewildered. "Yes, I know that."

"Then why don't you call me it?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Because I've called you 'Weasley' the entire time I've known you. It's just normal for me to call you that it would be so strange to call you anything else. And why do we need to change that?"

She sighed. "Haven't _we_ changed? We're friends, and friends use each others first names."

He stared at her, feeling foolish as he asked, "Friends? Is that what we are?"

He was sure that if she wasn't so depressed, she would've blushed. As it was, her cheeks still did turn a bit pink. "W-Well," she very nearly stuttered. "We're sort of… hanging out together. And I don't know…. I guess I just sort of assumed we were friends now. I mean if you don't want to be than I mean I get it perfectly, but I was just kind of thinking that well I might like it…." She rambled on before he cut in.

"I think I'd like that."

She stopped rambling. She wasn't truly smiling – she never smiled anymore – but she was _half_ smiling, and her eyes were filled with happiness. She continued however with her stern, almost reprimanding, tone – a twinkle in her eye. "Friends use their first names."

He swallowed. "Okay, fine. Ginny." It wasn't that unpleasant, really. Actually it was kind of nice.

She looked pleased. "Draco."

It was very strange to here her voice saying his first name, seeing as she had never used it before. But he kind of liked it, too, strangely enough.

He really liked being there, on the Astronomy Tower at night (getting towards early evening now, as they both kept coming earlier) with her. She didn't judge him. She knew there was a mark on his arm, and looked past it. She didn't see the ink or the skin. She saw the soul. And for that, he was grateful.

Because he needed someone to treat him like a human being – not a murderer. Because everyone thought that these days – the Slytherins loved him (which he hated) and everyone else despised him. And feared him.

She didn't see that. Strange, seeing as she was in the Order and Potter's girlfriend.

It was beyond bizarre that he had found a friend in _her._ True, he hadn't ever really had a friend before – he had followers of sorts, but that was it really. She was giving him someone to talk to. Not about the deep things, or the personal things – he couldn't complain about the Death Eater's plans to her for example – but he could still have simple conversations with her, which made him surprisingly happy. He liked talking to her. He liked how she looked pas the mask and saw _him_. She was the only person who ever had.

He didn't understand why she had given him a second chance, of sorts. He had been sure that she had thought him a murderer. But could she see that he hated his life? That he was forced into it? That he was a scared child in a dark and terrifying world?

He was far too young for this. He knew that. His mother had said the same thing last year upon receiving his mission. He'd acted tough because he seriously believed it would be a breeze. How hard was it to kill the old bat? Well he'd actually found it a challenge. No, finding a way to kill him. That was easy enough (well the Vanishing Cabinet had taken a while, but it hadn't been nearly as hard as the other part). The hardest part was killing him. Turning his wand on the old man, looking so vulnerable there, atop the very tower on which he now stood. The hardest thing was what he'd thought to be the easiest. Actually saying those two words, and meaning them.

He hadn't been able to say it. He never had the infatuation with the Dark Arts. He hadn't wanted this, didn't actually want Dumbledore dead.

He couldn't say Avada Kedavra.

His father had called him weak. But maybe he was wrong.

Maybe he wasn't weak. Maybe he just didn't want to be the monster his father wished he had for a son. He would wear the dark cloak and robes, he would let the ink burn his arm as he took the mark in silence, but he could not, and had not, been able to kill a man like Albus Dumbledore.

Was it wrong to be a little unnerved by the presence of Snape afterwards?

Was it wrong to not want to kill a brilliant old man – although he was completely mad – whom, although he had insulted a great deal, he didn't really hate? Was it wrong to not want to kill at all?

Was it wrong not to be his father's model son?

Because he sure as hell wasn't being the model son right now. Talking to Weasley. Talking to Ginny.


	6. You're Not So Bad

_**Disclaimer: Don't you dare sue me. I AM thinking of changing my name to J.K. Rowling, but that doesn't mean i own Harry Potter. I mean, if i did, Ginny would never be with Harry, and i would be making millions with this fanfic. (Insert Evil Laugh Here)**_

_**No, i'm not changing my name to J.K. Rowling.**_

_**A/N: Okay it has been awhile since I've updated, but forgive me, high school is hard and has tons of homework. i'm not sure how frequently i will be posting now, as school is hectic, but i'm going to try, because i really like this story, and i'm not giving it up. Also, i don't really like this chapter, it's more of a filler. i have to make Ginny and Draco really good friends before there's even a hint of romance. so, i'm sorry, but you'll have to wait a few chapters for the romance to come in -- but it will be there! this is a romance fic, trust me! also, in some of the very very later chapters this is going to get angsty -- but not for a bit yet. i guess it already is a bit -- what with their depression.**_

_**also, i want to warn you -- i have this entire fanfic outliend and planned out -- i know exactly what is going to happen with it. and it's going to be fairly long -- 29 chapters guys. well, the last chap will be an epilogue, but still.**_

_**ALSO, i really don't think there is going to be a sequel. just thought i should let you know now -- because i've got the plot figured out, and i'm happy with it.**_

_**AND after this enormous author's note, here is the sixth chapter.**_

She was groaning by the time she woke up. Late _again._

She knew it was because of last night. They'd stayed as late as usual, and, having arrived earlier, spent even more time together. Strange. But good. Which was strange.

She was exhausted, and she knew her sleeping patterns were becoming seriously screwed up because of their conversations, but she really didn't care. She would sleep through class anyways. It wasn't as though anything they were told would be true.

She sighed, slowly getting up and getting ready. She hardly had time for breakfast now, but she could probably grab a muffin or something before class. It wouldn't make any difference if she was late – she would get a gash in her arm because of it, which she had carefully avoided since the first day, but she couldn't care anymore. Pain wouldn't wake her up. _He _would.

Pathetic, wasn't it, that he seemed to be her only friend?

But he was also, well, different. He was the only one who could break through the wall she put up. He could provoke her, anger her, and, somehow, comfort her.

Maybe comfort wasn't the right word. He wasn't exactly comforting her. But to know there was someone else who was in pain in this bitter world was comfort nonetheless.

Even if she should be afraid of him. Even if she knew he was dangerous, and should take that natural warning and stay away from him. Even if there was ink that would stain his arm forever. Even if he was on the opposite end of the war.

Even if she was in danger every moment she spent with him.

They weren't supposed to be friends, as they had dubbed themselves last night. They were supposed to be enemies – they always had been. Why was that? They weren't so different. Or maybe they were. Maybe the only thing they had in common was the pain. But everyone had pain in this broken shattered world. That was how they lived. That was how everyone lived.

They were just two broken souls, meeting to find some tiny fraction of comfort. They needed it, craved it. It didn't matter anymore that she was Gryffindor, and he Slytherin. Or that he was, well, Malfoy – her apparent worst enemy. The insults faded from her memory. She no longer held memories – they were all too bright and colourful and happy. She saw the world in grey now.

And she would forget that even in these shades of grey, they were still as opposite as black and white.

Because it no longer mattered. Nothing did anymore.

She hardly knew herself. She spoke to none of the Gryffindors, believing they wouldn't understand, and yet she spoke frequently – daily – with Draco Malfoy, somehow under the impression that he would listen and understand. Her life was fucked up like that.

She rushed into the Great Hall, with only ten minutes left until class. Groaning, she grabbed a muffin and attempted to stuff all of it into her mouth at once.

There were only a few people left in the Great Hall. Sixth and seventh years sat in small groups – some of them had free periods now, lucky them. There were one or two stragglers like her, but that was it.

She knew it would happen, too, as it did. She couldn't control herself. He was some sort of addiction.

For, then, with ten minutes left until class, with physical pain as her punishment if she was late, her eyes flicked automatically and uncontrollably to the Slytherin table. The sight of him would, somehow, lift her spirits for the entire day.

He wasn't there. Of course.

She had to race to Transfiguration, disappointed. This was one of the only classes that she actually learned anything in anymore. It was pathetic really.

But she couldn't pay any attention to McGonagall's lesson on turning a needle into an armchair. There were other, more important, things to think about.

So she randomly waved her wand, thoughts elsewhere. She was sure that her needle would blow up some time soon, but she couldn't worry about that now.

She was… surprised. Her and Mal – _Draco_ friends? It was the strangest, most wrong thing she'd ever heard. And also the most right.

The others – Gryffindor's precious Golden Trio – would never have to know. They had left her here, alone, to deal with the consequences.

She knew a lot of her depression was stupid and selfish. She was being completely unreasonable, and she knew that, too.

He was saving the world. That was more important than her, and she got that. She just hated being apart from him – without even a title to bind him to her. She no longer was his girlfriend – he could have all of those beautiful, smart, _deserving_ girls out there – the ones worthy of him. She was just his best friends little sister – he could do so much better than that. So much better than her.

And even though she had known that, she had still loved him – unreasonably, she knew, and certainly undeservingly. But she had loved him nonetheless, and with him gone, there was a part of her gone too. Her heart.

And that was why she couldn't be herself. That and the fact that she was constantly worrying about him – and Ron and Hermione. They were only seventeen, and they were on WANTED posters. She had stopped ordering the Prophet, not just because everything they printed was untrue, but also because she couldn't bear the jolt in her stomach every time she saw their names.

Also, there was the fact that she knew there was a war coming. And she was too young for this – but it was inevitable; everyone could tell by just looking at the new, bleak Hogwarts. Things had changed. For the worse.

So all in all, her life sucked.

She was sick of being depressed though. Sick of the empty numbness she felt constantly. She wanted to feel something – anything.

And Draco gave her that. Anger at first – but now he was, well, a friend. And she wasn't annoyed with him anymore.

The bell sounded, shaking her from her thoughts. She stared down at the needle – still unchanged. She sighed quietly and rose to go to her next class.

It was like that all day long.

She paid no attention to her classes while her thoughts were on Draco and the Golden Trio. She'd heard the nickname around the school and found it actually a bit amusing. It was still hard to think of them, though, and hear them mentioned in casual conversation. Everything was about them these days.

No one mentioned her. She had never truly been part of their circle of friends, had she? She had been an extra, Ron's annoying little sister. They had only suddenly appreciated her when Harry started dating her. All of the Gryffindors started noticing her then. And, then, she'd been happy.

But life wasn't like that anymore.

When she made her way to dinner, she attempted to control her eager expression. She was hoping to see him again – it had been a long day, as were all of them now. Her days were consisting of her confused and mixed thoughts of Draco and the trio, while she pretended to pay attention in class. Then, she would rush to eat her dinner, postpone going there until it didn't seem like she was _too_ eager, and head off to meet him.

It was her repetitive daily routine. It was her life.

So she downed her dinner in a hurry, paying no attention to what she was eating, even though she knew she should take her time. She didn't want to wait forever in the library, pretending to work, so that she wouldn't be there exceptionally early. But she couldn't help herself. She wanted to see him.

She got up and headed to the library. She scanned the shelves, looking for a book that would occupy her for half an hour, but everything there looked boring and dusty. She wondered how Hermione could ever love this place.

The name sent back a whirlwind of memories – memories she'd thought she had permanently forgotten. She had attempted to forget, to be numb, but it never worked. The pain kept flooding back.

Hermione and her had been good friends. They'd talked about Ron and Harry at length – Hermione had always liked Ron, and Ginny had always been infatuated with Harry, so their discussions fit. She could hardly recognize the girl in her memories – she was feisty, bright, cheerful, full of life. Now she was dull. Boring. Empty. Dead.

She missed Ron, too, strangely enough. No matter how much she had teased and mocked, it felt unbearably empty to not have an overprotective brother there to scream over her shoulder. She was the last Weasley left at Hogwarts, and it wasn't even her last year. She had thought that would be the worst – the three of them, out in the world, with jobs and lives, while she was at school

She was wrong. Them attempting to save the world with her left here, worrying and desperate, lonely and wishing they were here was the worst. She had always thought they would be here for her sixth year; never questioned it. Where else would they be? Oh… well, maybe saving the world?

Well, good for them. But she was still alone here, with no one to talk to.

No one but Draco. What was the world coming to?

A war. The world was coming to a war. A war that would change her life. A war that already had.

She sighed. The library wasn't occupying her time any longer, and she knew where she wanted to be. She got up slowly, wishing her thoughts would just stop. They were too confusing; her life was too screwed.

She tried to keep her steps slow as she walked towards the tower, not wanting to seem as desperate as she was. But she still knew that her pace was far too fast, and she'd be there quickly enough.

But when she stepped onto the tower roof, he was already there. Earlier than her.

He beamed when he saw her. "Hey."

"Hi."

"So… how was your day?" He was smirking.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, thank you. And yours?"

"Dull. As always."

"That's the way things are around here."

He sighed, looking out at the night. "It never used to be like that. Hogwarts was my home – my real home instead some fancy manor. It was always exciting and interesting. And _fun_. And look at us now. No spirit. No life."

"Nothing to live for," she whispered.

The look on his face was unfathomable. "We should have something to live for."

She stared at his solemn expression, wondering what he was thinking about. She hardly thought the words before they were out of her mouth. "Maybe we do have something to live for."

He turned abruptly, staring at her. He could guess the undercurrent of her words.

She knew that their friendship was beyond bizarre. And maybe it wasn't important enough to live for. But it was something they craved in their unbearable lives. It was a release.

There was a battle in his eyes, as he understood her words. He looked at her, expression as cryptic as always, and she didn't know what he was thinking until he whispered, "Maybe."

She smiled slightly. Not really – she didn't know how to smile. But these half smiles kept occurring more and more frequently in his presence. He had that effect on her.

They stood in silence for a minute. It wasn't awkward, just peaceful. They could enjoy each other's company without words.

He was different, she concluded. He could change her – and already had a bit. And he was alone too, as much as anyone would believe otherwise. Why else would he talk to her? He could chat with any Slytherin he liked – but they didn't seem to actually see him, to actually know him. Was it strange that it seemed as though she did?

Her voice was quiet as she spoke. "You hardly speak to them anymore."

He looked confused, as though pulled from another train of thought. "Who?"

"The Slytherins."

Comprehension dawned on his face, and his mouth turned to a hard line. "They don't understand. They don't know me – not that they ever will."

She just looked at him blankly. "Do I know you?"

He looked back at her. "Yes."

There was a silence. It was too serious, too grim an atmosphere. So she tried to be light-hearted.

"You know what?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Even if you are a confusing, arrogant prat, you're not so bad."

He smirked. "And even though you're a depressed, angst ridden, drama queen, you're not so bad yourself."

They spent the rest of the night in pleasurable conversation. Conversation between two good friends.


	7. I Never Chose This

**Disclaimer: I love HP, but it's not mine.**

**A/N: i'm sorry, this isn't a huge chapter. but i wanted to get something out there because it's been awhile siince i've updated. but since i have 5 tests and a major project in the upcoming week, i'm not sure when i'll manage updates. i'm sure a lot of you know how stressful high school is, and i beg you for you sympathy.**

**i love all of my dedicated readers, but especially my reviewers!! please review, it makes me happy :)**

**i'm also not thrilled with my ending of this chapter -- it should have been longer, and had a better closing statement, but i couldn't think of anything. so... here it is! CHAPTER SEVEN!!**

He moaned at the alarm clock. He was going to be late. Not that it mattered. It wasn't like he would be punished.

He sat up slowly, exhausted. It had been very late that he had gotten to bed. As though that was something new. It had been a month now – a month of meeting her in the evenings. It was becoming his routine. Get up tired, eat, class, eat, class, eat, astronomy tower with Ginny until five in the morning. Yes, five in the morning. Seriously.

So he had every reason to be tired three hours later. He hated school.

So he was surprised when he heard voices in the common room. More Slytherins were cutting? That was odd. They usually enjoyed classes now – everything was in their favour. He dressed slowly, and headed down the steps of his dormitory, curious.

There were many Slytherins in the common room. Odd….

When he even saw first years there, he knew something was up. Oh, wait…

He very nearly kicked himself.

It was Saturday.

He hadn't paid attention to the date – well, he hadn't paid attention to anything. Anything except Ginny…

Oh, he was desperate.

Was it so wrong though? His father would say it was. The Slytherins would too. But he had learned recently that all of them had different opinions than him. He didn't feel like a Slytherin anymore.

But she understood _him._ Not the Draco Malfoy that everyone saw – the Death Eater, though he surely couldn't deny that he was. But he was a scared little child when accepted that mark, and he still was. Scared as shit.

He despised himself. He couldn't stand his name – Malfoy. Always associated with evil. There were no exceptions.

But couldn't there be? Why couldn't a Malfoy be kind? Well, they were raised like this. Raised to hate. And the prejudice lived on.

Except she, a blood traitor, a Gryffindor, _Ginny Weasley_, seemed an infinitely better person than he did these days. She _was_ a better person.

With a defeated sigh, he left the common room. He needed breakfast. No matter his thoughts, he was still alive. Even if he had considered ending that fact several times.

There were a few people heading in for a late breakfast, but mostly, the Great Hall was empty. He glanced over to the Gryffindor table, as per usual. And she wasn't there.

It wasn't looking like such a great day.

But he sat down and had pancakes paying very little attention to the fact that he was drowning them in syrup.

"Easy on the syrup, Draco."

He looked up into the amused eyes of his once best friend, Blaise Zabini. "Blaise." He nodded cordially.

"Draco." Blaise's eyes held a glimmer of suppressed mirth.

"Is there any particular reason why you're disturbing my breakfast?" Draco rolled his eyes while speaking.

Blaise shook his head. "You've been … different lately. What's up?"

Draco tried desperately to keep his face blank – devoid of emotion. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Blaise studied his face for a moment, and sat down. "I'm serious, you know. You're never even around anymore – and you're distant when ever you are. You're not yourself. And don't tell me I'm mad – even Pansy's noticed you're not paying any attention to her. And she's really thick."

Draco didn't show his concern. "An understatement. But not only is she thick, she's mad – completely batty, Blaise. And besides – you were saying I should move on last year! I have no reason _to_ pay attention to Pansy."

Blaise looked at him. "That's it then? You don't care for her anymore?"

Draco snorted. "When did I?"

Blaise smirked. "Well, I'm glad. She always was a needy bitch."

Draco laughed – a harsh, unfamiliar sound in the din of the Great Hall. "Well said."

Blaise observed him for a long moment, before nodding to himself, and standing up. "I guess you have been busy – Head Boy and all. And your dormitory is damn nice."

Draco smirked. "Tell me something I don't know."

Blaise grinned widely. "See you later."

"Yeah."

As he watched his once best friend walk away, Draco felt even lonelier. It had once been so easy to talk to Blaise – they were a lot alike. But these days, they had nothing in common. His life had changed so dramatically – all because of one girl, he thought fondly. She had changed him. It was because of her. And he was grateful.

He glanced over at the Gryffindor table, and felt a flash of happiness when he spotted her brilliant red hair. He lived for the nights atop the tower – where he had found himself.

He had always put up a wall – a wall he had believed infallible. He himself had never seen past this wall – he'd got so caught up in the illusion – the guy he pretended to be, that he forgot who he actually was behind the wall. He hadn't known. But she had. She had found the cracks in the wall, and dug through it with persistence, and found him on the other side. She'd found the real him.

And she somehow thought he was _good._ Good enough that she came back. Came back every night for a month. She seemed blind to the ink that stained his arm – the ink that stained his heart. He was dangerous, and she was blind. She didn't seem to think of her safety. Although she didn't seem to care much about safety anymore.

Not that she knew – exactly. She wasn't an idiot – she could guess that he was a Death Eater. Who couldn't after what had occurred last year? But she didn't know the extent of his situation. Maybe she could guess he was afraid. That he hadn't wanted this. That he wanted so much to be there, safe on her side. But he could never cross the invisible line that put him on this side of the war. Just because his parents wanted this. But he didn't. He couldn't do this.

The day passed with no feeling, no emotion, as always. He had one class with her – Muggle Studies, where there were so few Gryffindors that the sixth and seventh year Gryffindors had the class together, with the Slytherins. He tuned out his professor – and fellow Death Eater – and watched the way the sunlight shimmered in her hair all class.

He trudged his way to dinner, but ate quickly. He was filled with anticipation. He loved these little escapades. The rush – the adrenaline – of meeting her, of knowing he was doing exactly what should not of been doing, was an addictive sensation. He headed straight to the Astronomy tower as soon as he had inhaled his dinner, but she still beat him there.

She looked up from a scroll of parchment, a half smile on her lips. "Hi."

"Hey."

She turned back to her paper for a moment. "What are you working on?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "Charms essay. You'd think, when we're practically in the middle of a war, they'd stop with the homework, wouldn't you? Well, apparently not." She sighed and continued scribbling furiously for a minute, before setting the parchment down.

"So anything new?" she asked.

He chuckled dryly. "Oh, of course. Because my life is fascinating."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure this will unnecessarily inflate your ego, but oh well. I do find you fascinating."

He looked at her. Her eyes were honest, sincere. He looked down. He doubted he'd gotten an honest compliment in his life. If that was a compliment.

And it made him feel even worse about how wrong it was for her to be here. He needed to tell her that she was sitting her with a Death Eater – a guy who'd attempted murder.

He swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, and shaking. "Ginny, I-I need to tell you…" He looked at her imploringly. She just looked at him, not judging, as usual.

"I – well, you shouldn't be here. I'm… dangerous. Ginny, you probably know already, but I – I'm a Death Eater. I tried to kill our Headmaster."

"I know that. I also know you couldn't do this. I know you never wanted that life."

He fell apart then. He was very suddenly… crying. _Crying._ He didn't cry.

"I hate it. I hate it so much. And I know it's wrong, what I'm doing. I couldn't kill him. Was that so wrong? Well, it is to my fucking father. My fucking father who got my into this fucking mess, where I have to fucking kill people!"

She didn't even look afraid. Did she simply not care? Could she not care?

He looked at her desperately. "I never wanted this. I never chose this. And I wish more than ever that I could be on your side."

She looked at him, her expression suddenly gentle, sympathetic. "Did you think I didn't notice that? I knew what you were, what you'd done. But I also knew who you _really_ were. That you were born into a life of prejudice, that you were forced into this."

He turned and cried into her shoulder, and she let him. Life was mad, but she was there for him.

"When I got it though, I wanted it Ginny! I'm a monster! I didn't know what it meant – my father only said it was the greatest honour, that I'd have such glory. And I was a stupid child. I believed him. Why the hell would I believe him? I'm an idiot!"

"No, you're not. Don't think that. You listened to your father – that's not wrong. It's what anyone does. We were brought up to think adults were always right – it just takes a while to realize that everything we are told when we're young is a complete lie. I hate that. Adults pretend the world is nice and good for what? Ten years? And then they tell us that it's all a lie, that life sucks, and to deal with it. And here we are, trying to deal with it."

"That's harsh. Our lives are worse than most. We're in a war – on opposing ends – depressed, alone. At least, alone until we found each other. And you can't imagine how grateful I am for you friendship." He was embarrassed by the last line, but it was the truth. He didn't know what he would have done – who he'd be if it wasn't for her.

"And I am too."

"You have no reason to be. You should hate me. I've been a jerk my whole life, because I thought that was right – that I deserved that."

"People make mistakes. The important thing is to forgive them when they admit they were wrong."

He smirked a little. "Since when are you a Healer?"

She half smiled faintly, and spoke with a wistful tone. "I only know mental health. I have enough issues myself that I can learn from them."

He looked at her. "You're not mental, Ginny. If anyone is, it's me."

She looked amused at she raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I suppose you are, if you're meeting someone as mental as me every night."

He heard the undercurrent of her words. She really did think she had mental issues. Well, maybe she was mental for believing she was mental, but there was no other reason.

He sighed, looking at her. "I'm thankful that I get to meet you here, Ginny. I like meeting you here. I know I'm not mental – I'm lucky. I'm lucky to be your friend. Anyone would be. And you're anything but crazy. You're – you're awesome."

She flushed gently. "Uh… thank you. And… well, you might think you're – how did you put it? A monster? Well, you're not. I'm the lucky one. So… thanks."

He smiled.


	8. Never Broken

Disclaimer: I don't own it, okay?

A/N: This chapter is much shorter than i wanted it to be, but it's a chapter and i like the dialogue in this one. i think i'm better with conversation than thoughts. so i'm somewhat happy with this one. i intended to have this out sunday, but that just didn't happen. school is hectic, there's a ton of work, and i'm trying my best to have these out frequently, because i really like this fic. i'm also working on another long one shot, but it's draco and hermione. it will be out sometime soon. i had some good ideas on it, so i worked on it a bit this weekend. i've got a lot of longer fanfics i want to work on too, but not until this is finished, which will be in a long time.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!

Chapter 8

--

That day, she woke up early. Strange.

Especially since she had gotten very little sleep once she had finally gotten to bed, tossing and turning. She had been, well, worrying. About him.

She had guessed, of course. She knew what had happened last year, and everyone knew of the mark on his arm. But there was no mark on his soul.

She was touched, though, that he had told her. He had confessed to her. He was afraid.

Well, so was she.

She was sick of it, though. Sick of the pain, and the fear. The fear of the approaching war – coming far too fast. It felt like she'd grown up in ten minutes – this wasn't a child's pain, or a child's fears. She shouldn't have to worry about her friends – she shouldn't be wondering if they were still alive. She shouldn't be hurting because of the worries of death. And heartbreak.

But he… he had as much to worry about as she did. She knew he wasn't a monster, but only now did she realize how difficult his life was.

He had been taught to live his life that way. He had been told he was the best, that Malfoys came first, that purebloods were all that mattered. He was taught that becoming a Death Eater was the greatest honour. He was taught to want that. He _had_ wanted that.

_"When I got it though, I wanted it."_

But she remembered his other words, too. Confessions. If anyone heard what he had said last night, he would be killed. No one was allowed to be unfaithful to Voldemort.

_"I hate it. I hate it so much. And I know it's wrong, what I'm doing."_

_"I never wanted this. I never chose this. And I wish more than ever that I could be on your side."_

And she believed him.

Maybe that was foolish, seeing as it was _Draco Malfoy_, but she couldn't doubt the sincerity in his words. He had been crying last night._ Crying._

The last time she checked, Malfoys didn't cry.

But he didn't seem like the Malfoy she remembered. He was kind, caring, broken, and had cried last night. Had confessed last night.

She sat down at breakfast early, not expecting to see him there. They were constantly almost late – every day, in fact. So she was surprised too see his blond hair gleaming from across the Great Hall.

He looked tired, she noted. There were huge bags under his eyes, just like hers. They really should be getting more sleep…

She watched him throughout breakfast. He didn't interact with the others at the Slytherin table, she noticed. He was becoming as distant with them as she was with the Gryffindors.

He ate in silence, clearly deep in thought. She hoped he didn't regret telling her everything last night. She would never tell anyone, no matter what happened. She knew the consequences if the Death Eaters found out that he wanted to side with Harry Potter….

She winced at the mental image.

And although there was a distinct possibility that he regretted telling her, she was still, shockingly, happy. Even though what he had said was dangerous, even though he could be killed because of it, it made her happy.

Because he seemed to trust her not to say anything. Because they really were friends. Where she had not found friendship in her own house, she had found it in another.

How ironic that it was Slytherin.

But he didn't seem like a Slytherin. He had grown up, unlike the others. He knew what it was really like to meet Voldemort, to have a mark branded on your arm, and to try to kill people. The others thought that was what they wanted, but if they really got their wishes, could they handle it?

Maybe they could.

Maybe it was just him, who couldn't take that pain. The internal pain, which burned him as much as hers burned her.

But whatever it was, she was grateful that he wasn't really like a Death Eater, although he was one. Because he hated the death and destruction as much as she did.

And she should really talk to him…

He had told her his deepest secrets, his very own betrayal to his father and Voldemort himself. His reasons for wanting suicide.

Wasn't it right of her to tell him hers?

But it was embarrassing to admit how much power Harry had over her. He wasn't even here, and he could make her miserable.

Although that was kind of the point. She wouldn't be miserable if he _was_ here.

She sighed to herself. She should tell him…

It was a Sunday, and she had nothing to do. Nothing, at all.

She sat in her dormitory and did homework for a while. But when her Potions essay was done, her Transfiguration paper was complete, and she had a head start on her Herbology work, which wasn't due for three weeks, she knew she needed something to do.

She walked around the grounds for a while, and sat by the lake. She attempted to read. Nothing held her interest. Nothing did anymore.

Eventually, it was time for dinner. She raced inside, anticipation rushing through her veins, almost palpable in the air. She lived for this. She was an addict, and he was her drug.

She almost stopped when she realized what she had just thought. What the hell happened to Ginny Weasley?

She grew up, she reminded herself grimly. This was what happened when you were forced to grow up too fast.

She inhaled her dinner, and walked as fast as possible without running to the Astronomy tower. He was already there.

"Hi." He grinned at her.

She could hardly get used to this smile, although she had seen it so many times. Who could guess that Draco Malfoy could actually smile? Not smirk, smile?

She looked at his face happily. She still didn't smile, she hardly remembered how. But she knew he could see the pleasure in her eyes. He could read her well.

Better than anyone these days.

"Hey." She knew she sounded more hesitant than usual. But she was.

He looked her seriously for a moment, probably guessing that she had something to say, and letting her continue whatever way she wanted to.

She sighed quietly. "I need to tell you something," she said, repeating his words from the night before.

He nodded, letting her proceed.

"I … well, I guess, you probably already saw that I was pretty… depressed. Suicidal."

He nodded, a faint flicker of pain flashing across his face. He clenched his jaw.

"There… there's a reason for that. As you must have guessed. And I told you, that first night, that you could find a reason, if you looked hard enough. And the thing is, nobody had looked hard enough. Nobody even attempts to be a part of my life anymore, except you. And I'm so thankful for that."

She swallowed, and continued.

"I… something… happened this summer. You may have already guessed it… but they left. They had to go… they're saving the world. And I understand. But… they left me behind.

"I shouldn't be this hurt by that, I know. It's just… I don't remember my life without them. They always have been a part of my life.

"Ron is my _brother_. He's part of my family. It's… scary, to think that he's out thee. And half the time I have so many regrets. I insulted him so many times…. What if he dies? What if my last words were cruel? I don't even remember what my last words to him were….

"And Hermione has been like a sister to me for so long. She has always been there and supported me, and we were there for each other. And although I know she's brilliant, I can't see, don't want to see her out there fighting. She's my best friend. And I… I…"

She looked at him desperately. His face was surprisingly tender. He understood.

"I hate this," she almost spat the words. "It's not fair. There shouldn't be a war. I should be worrying about exams, or some stupid gossip, or something. Not if my friends are still alive. We shouldn't have to deal with this. We're too young. We shouldn't have to fight. It's like we grew up in ten minutes. _It's not fair._"

"Life isn't fair," he whispered.

"I know."

She looked at him. He was already sympathetic, and that was only half her pain. She swallowed.

"There's more."

He looked surprised, and almost hurt. Then she saw the sadness in his eyes and understood. He didn't want her to be hurting any more than that; that was enough to handle.

She took a deep breath.

"H-He left, too," she mumbled. She saw the anger flash through his grey eyes, and remembered the hatred. What she told him would just increase the rivalry, but she didn't care. They were already at war, how much worse could it get?

"I… it shouldn't have hurt me that much. It still shouldn't. But it does. I know he's saving the world, as always, but for once, I wanted that to be a hard decision for him. I wanted him to want to stay. To care about me as much as saving them. It's so selfish, but I wanted that. I wanted…." She took an unsteady breath. "I loved him," she whispered, watching Draco's face. "I loved him so much, and he left."

"He broke your heart, then," he spoke, his voice rough.

"No, my heart wasn't broken," she whispered. "Broken isn't a strong enough word to explain the pain. A heart is never broken, it's crushed, stomped on, shattered, beaten, bruised, slammed, torn, stabbed, incinerated, destroyed, mangled. Any of those. But broken? Never broken."

That was when she started crying. She was shocked by her tears. She hadn't cried about this since the first week after he left. After that, she had let go. Let go of him. Let go of the pain. Let go of her life. Let go of everything.

She was shocked when she felt gentle arms surround her. He was hugging her, supporting her, protecting her.

And this made her so happy that other tears formed in her eyes.

And so she let herself sit there, content in his arms, crying tears of sadness and happiness, so confused that she didn't know which was which. She could hardly remember why she was crying. She couldn't remember her name.

All she could feel were his arms around her, holding her. Telling her without words that everything was going to be alright.


	9. Standing Up For Her

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

_A/N: This is an important chapter! i think of it as a small turning point in Draco and Ginny's relartionship. I'm sorry, it's been a while since my last update, but I'm trying!_

_There subtle hints at romance in this, but it will build. this is a romance story :P_

_this is a few months later, as you may pick up._

_So... here it is! Chapter nine!_

_R&R!_

_--_

He had been surprised.

She had been so… vulnerable, that night. And seeing it had affected him more than he would like to admit.

He never wanted to see her in pain again.

He remembered her whispers, the jagged, raw, pain in her eyes, on that night a few months ago. He finally knew what could have so thoroughly killed her, killed her so much that she was honestly considering suicide.

It would figure that it was Harry Potter, everyone's saviour, wouldn't it? Maybe he could save the world, but he couldn't save Ginny Weasley.

Could Draco?

He walked to breakfast slowly, remembering her tears. There was something he'd never expected. He'd never seen her cry. She was so strong, so brave. She didn't let herself cry. That night, she had let go.

And so had he.

He'd thrown away the façade for good. Whenever he was with her, he could only be himself now. He remembered the unnatural reaction… he had put his arms around her. He had held her, and let her cry. And as he had watched her, her eyes red, her face coated in tears, he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe she had this affect on people. Maybe he could understand why Potter was head over heels in love with the girl. She was just… loveable.

And maybe it had strangely burned when she had said she loved him, 'The Chosen One', the Scarhead.

He looked across the Great Hall. She was sitting there, looked tired. But not tired like she hadn't had enough sleep. Tired emotionally.

Which was understandable, seeing as she wasn't living the best life –in the middle of a war, and still hurting internally. It was February now, and things weren't looking up much.

But he was there for her, a friend, as strange as that was. Even though there was a mark on his arm, and that ink separated them. They were different people. That was how it worked.

How it was supposed to work.

But did things ever go according to plan?

It was soon time for class, but still he thought of her while he walked, paying no attention to anyone.

He didn't know why he was remembering that night of her vulnerability, but strangely, the memories comforted him. She wasn't the bleak girl of before, distant from the rest. It was taking a while, but she was slowly returning to the girl she was before this mess. Before Harry Potter.

Because she seemed to be coming back to life, remembering herself again after months of being an empty shell. He hoped it had something to do with their conversations. She kept telling him more, deeper things. And he remembered that night, when she had told him about the pain of losing her brother, best friend, and … well, the boy of her dreams. Why did that still sting?

She had also told him about the way this war, this subtle war of power at the moment, a war that would turn into so much more, was hurting her.

She told him how she was so alone. How he was her only friend.

He was thinking of her while he walked into class, remembering her words. _"Never broken."_ The words echoed in his head. It was Muggle Studies, the one class he had with her. The one he looked forward to.

Alecto Carrow was rambling on, insulting muggles, as usual, ten minutes later, when Ginny unexpectedly raised her hand.

There was venom in Alecto's voice when she noticed. "Weasley?"

Ginny's voice was casual, calm, but biting. "Oh, I was just wondering how many muggles you're related to. Your mother's one, isn't she?"

His eyes widened.

"You despicable girl!" Alecto hissed. "You will not talk to me like that!" Her eyes flashed as she slashed her wand through the air. A long, deep gash appeared on Ginny's cheek, from her temple to her chin. She didn't even flinch. He jumped out of his seat.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He was very nearly shaking with suppressed rage.

"Don't talk to her like that."

Everyone turned to him, shocked. She turned the slowest, her red hair falling over her shoulder. Their eyes met. Hers were surprised and desperate. He saw the pain, well hidden, in her chocolate brown eyes. What surprised him was the plea. The plea that he wouldn't do anything, because she knew he'd get hurt. Hurt far worse than a gash on the cheek.

They weren't allowed to do what they were doing. They weren't allowed to be friends. And he couldn't confess to that friendship. There was too much at stake. They would be killed.

So many reasons why standing up for her was wrong.

So, with her eyes, she begged he do nothing.

But he didn't want to do nothing. Because, looking at her, he could find a reason that was right. A reason why he should stand up for her. Blood trailed down her beautiful cheek, her mouth in a hard line. She was hurting because she was herself. The fiery, feisty, girl he remembered from earlier, happier years. He loved seeing that girl, the real her, again. And he hated seeing her punished for it.

He wanted to Crucio Alecto until she was begging for death and stab her over and over. Drown her. Hang her. Shoot her. Kill her. For his pain of being what he hated. For Ginny's pain and loss. For everyone hurting because of this. But he couldn't.

All of these feelings, realizations, and silent exchanges occurred in just a few seconds.

"I mean, she deserves far worse, Professor. How dare she insult you so," he finished.

A smile returned to Alecto's face. The class turned away, thinking everything normal. But Ginny looked at him for a minute longer, relief in her eyes. He just looked at her, knowing there was desperation in his eyes, until she turned around.

He couldn't focus for the rest of the day. All he could see was the plea in her eyes, and the blood trailing down her cheek. He was shocked at the pain that was crushing him because of it. Because she was hurt.

And when she hurt, so did he.

He was afraid to see her, to see the proof of her pain on her face. He was terrified of the ugly mark scarring her perfect skin. He was afraid of what it meant.

But also, shockingly, glad for it. Not for her pain – that destroyed him. But the knowledge that something had changed.

She had become more normal recently, but not like this. She was never exactly herself. She never spoke out of turn, and had no cuts to show for it. But today, although the pain likely scarred him as much as it did her, he was the tiniest bit happy.

Because she used to be like that. She used to be bold and fearless and honest, and say what she liked. And she still was, apparently.

Which was a relief. She wasn't damaged permanently. Harry Potter hadn't quite killed the girl that lived in Draco's memories, yet.

He sighed, feeling emotionally drained as he walked to dinner. So much had happened…

He'd almost shown them, too. Confessed to what he couldn't confess to.

He was not allowed to stand up for her. He was not allowed to wipe the blood from her cheek. He was not allowed to soothe her pain. He was not allowed to make her happy.

But he had the feeling that he did make her happy, anyway. They broke the rules. He remembered those rules, but promptly forgot them in her presence.

Why did he have to listen to those rules anyway? They weren't supposed to be friends. That basically meant he wasn't supposed to be happy. She made him happy.

It was dangerous, though, and they both knew it. But they both didn't care.

His was a life of desperation. But so was hers. She saved him, and he saved her. A fair bargain.

He ate without tasting the food in his mouth. He didn't follow the conversation. What was the point of pretending to? It didn't matter to him. Nothing did but what would begin again in ten minutes. He glanced at the Gryffindor table discreetly. She wasn't there. She'd already left.

It gave him hope for some bizarre reason.

He got up and left without a word of goodbye. The Slytherins had long determined that he was practically disturbed. They weren't expecting any words of recognition or goodbye.

They'd done a 180. Ginny, if her behaviour today was anything to go by, would be talking to her Gryffindor friends, while he avoided the Slytherins. It had been the opposite at the beginning of their twisted friendship.

What had happened to _him_? He'd thought about the changes in Ginny's demeanour, but never his own. He was different.

The prejudice was gone. The hatred for no reason had disappeared and he'd started caring. He smiled faintly, remembering those similar thoughts that first night he'd found her. How grateful he was that he hadn't turned her in.

She was the only friend he had.

When he reached the tower, she looked at him seriously. He dropped down next to her. He knew she would skip the friendly small talk and get to the point. He was right.

"You didn't have to do that today," she said seriously. "You shouldn't have."

"I needed to. I want to kill her for that. How dare she hurt you." He slowly raised his hand and traced the cut on her left cheek. She didn't flinch away. She seemed frozen.

"It's what I expected," she whispered. "But somebody's got to stand up to her. Besides, it doesn't hurt that much. Not nearly as much as you'd get hurt for standing up for me. You shouldn't have done that."

He rolled his eyes, hiding how her words affected him. "I'm not worried about me," he told her.

"You should be," she muttered.

"And what about you?" he fired back. "Why would you do that? We complain, and she's not right, I know, but telling her will just get you hurt, as you've learned. What the hell were you thinking?"

She looked at him with an unfathomable expression. "I want to," she whispered. 'Pain – that's fine. I can handle that. I do all the time. And I'm telling you right now, pain is a small price to pay to feel like myself again."

He looked at her, shocked. So she noticed the change, too.

"And I'm sure you remember the DA in my fourth year, too. Dumbledore's Army?" she prompted him. He nodded.

"Well, it's sort of being reformed. And I'm sort of in it."

He looked at her, surprised into silence again. Even though he shouldn't have been. Of course, people were fighting. Ginny and him weren't the only ones left. Others cared too.

And of course she would be in it. It was so… like her. The thought made him glow.

She wasn't battered anymore. Not mangled or shattered or any of the other words she had used that fateful night to describe her heart. She had really let go that night, and she was really here, really herself.

He was unbelievably happy, to see her like this. So, like that night where they had both let go, he hugged her.

She was surprised, he knew. But her arms hesitantly wrapped around him too, and he felt real too. Almost unbroken.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" she whispered, and he couldn't tell if she was teasing or literally confused.

"For everything. For being my friend. For being here. For being strong."

Her arms tightened around him, and he never wanted to let her go. Her words were just a breath in the wind.

"You're welcome."


	10. Me Again

_Disclaimer: don't own it._

_A/N: The next chapter is the big one!! The beginning of the romance!! The first kiss!! Can't wait to post!_

_This is really about Ginny coming back to life. It's shorter, but I like it._

_I heard a song thast sort of fits with this fanfic today. it's called 'Insomniatic' by Aly and Aj. Just mentioning it._

_Please Please PLEASE REVEW!!! I love reviews, and i love hearing everyone's thoughts on the story. Thanks!_

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Freedom.

It was the weirdest word to think, considering what was going on – a war. But she felt it anyway.

Because, oddly enough, she was happy.

_Happy._

She didn't remember being happy. But she was.

Was this the effect he had on her?

The face in the mirror surely could not be her, though. She had bounced out of bed, and thrown on her robes, and then, there she was looking in the mirror. But it couldn't be her. Because she didn't look like that.

The girl in the mirror was a different person. A half smile shone on her face, and her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were rosy, and she looked honestly content. How strange.

Of course, there was the dark red gash on her left cheek. So maybe it was her.

The cut brought memories of the night before, however, and it made her faint smile grow. He actually seemed to care about her. He had stood up for her. Protected her.

He had hugged her when she told him she was fighting, instead of saying no. He knew how desperate times were. And she was so grateful for that.

Because he understood that she wouldn't sit back and hide while others fought. She was strong, and she wasn't a little girl anymore, and they were all going to have to remember that, God damnit!

She was going to stand up for what was right. That was who she was.

Who she had been.

She mentally winced. She'd been so withdrawn, and he'd been the only one able to breathe life back into her. Couldn't she live, even if Harry wasn't here?

And she didn't really miss Harry anymore. She wasn't even that worried.

She was actually angrier with him.

And it wasn't even his fault.

She was angry at herself, really. Why had she been reduced to a zombie if he was gone? She'd had a life before him, she could have a life now.

To hell with Harry.

Because he would always shelter her. He wanted her safe and happy, but those didn't coincide. She wasn't safe, and she wasn't happy. But she was never safe. And he didn't understand that she didn't care how young she was or how much danger there was because she was a fighter, and damn it all, she was going to fight.

Of course, she couldn't say Draco was the opposite. He had protected her yesterday. So why did that feel sweet and caring, when Harry protecting her felt overbearing and obnoxious?

Well, Draco at least accepted that she was a fighter. She was so glad he didn't say anything like 'Don't do that, it's unsafe" when she told him about the DA.

She hadn't known what to think of the idea when Neville and Luna mentioned it. The DA? She supposed it was necessary. They weren't learning anything anymore. So she'd said yes.

She didn't know why they'd asked her. Of course, she had been closest with the lovely Golden Trio, so of course she would want to.

It was dangerous, she knew, but she liked the adrenaline. She smirked lightly, tracing the gash on her cheek.

She wanted this. At least it was something to feel. As she'd told him, she could handle the pain. But the pain…. Was it sick to almost want the pain?

But her suicidal days were long over. Wonder why that was…

The pain was easy to deal with. Familiar. It was something she knew how to handle.

And she wanted to be real again. She felt like she had been two dimensional before, completely cardboard. And now she was 3D. She was alive.

She looked at the girl in the mirror again, feeling light, oddly buoyant. Maybe the reflection _was_ her.

She was half-smiling again as she skipped down the stairs. She felt free.

She greeted a few first years cheerily and they gaped at her. She hadn't been like this all year.

They didn't know the old Ginny Weasley. They didn't know she had been more than alive – she had been considered fiery, feisty, and loud. Bubbly. They didn't know, or care to know.

She didn't care either. She wasn't that girl anymore, but she was getting pretty damn close. Maybe she really would find herself again.

It had been confessing, that had caused this. This slow, painful journey of becoming herself again. Once she had told Draco her problems, she had to move on. She had let go that night and she still was. She was letting go of him.

Because what was the point of loving Harry?

He'd left her with nothing. Not a promise or a title, or anything.

Except…

Except she couldn't really let go. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't. Because part of her still cared, and still waited for him. She wanted him to come back. She wanted him to tell her he loved her and he always had. That he cared.

Because even though she knew he did, it didn't feel like it.

But still, she knew he _did_ care. And it left her feeling helpless and unsure. Should she wait? Should she even care?

She pushed these thoughts from her mind. She'd felt so light. Couldn't she just forget her problems? Just for a little while? She was so sick of the stress, of the pressure, of the tension. Could she let go of that?

Couldn't there be happiness in the sadness? A light in the darkness? Wasn't she allowed that? A little while of peace? Could fate give her that?

She shook her head, clearing the dark thoughts. She had felt so light and free. And she still wanted to be.

She left the common room. She still felt better than usual, no matter the grim reminders of the horrors all around her. She could see the light in everything now.

Breakfast was typical. There was nothing exciting there, but she still felt light. Odd.

Classes were similar to the day before. She was obedient in the normal ones – Transfiguration, Charms – and defiant in the others. She already had another gash – this one on her arm – by Muggle Studies.

She was strangely nervous at the door. Should she risk anything here? Would he be able to act indifferent? Or would he react the same? Surely he couldn't improvise his way out of it again.

So she was obedient that class. She could rebel again tomorrow, she decided. She didn't need to get chopped up everyday.

Still, she could feel his eyes on her throughout the entire class. He was prepared, and bracing himself for her pain. It was touching that he cared.

But she wouldn't tempt fate. She wouldn't be surprised if he cursed the teacher if she was hurt again. And what trouble they'd be in _then._

She inwardly smiled. The thought made her strangely giddy.

She was really screwed today.

The day passed easily, and dinner came more quickly than usual. Maybe that was because she was actually interacting with people?

Still, people stared at her when she spoke. She hadn't been that introverted, had she? Hadn't she spoken to someone?

What about Neville and Luna? She thought desperately. Hadn't she spoken to them? Why else would they ask her to join the DA?

Maybe they thought it would bring her back to life.

Maybe they were right.

Or, maybe, it was someone else who had brought her to life.

She wasn't a zombie anymore, and she knew why. She was still feeling inwardly hyper. What was wrong with her?

What was right with her?

She felt real pleasure as she stood to leave the table. She actually said goodbye to the people at the table. They just gaped. Of course.

She walked to the tower with a skip in her step. Today was completely different.

She was the first one there, but she knew she wouldn't have to wait long. She leaned over the edge of the tower, but it wasn't like the first night. That night, she had been attempting enough courage to jump, to really let go. This night she was happy. She was enjoying the beautiful night. It was getting dark much earlier now, and there was snow on the ground. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her body.

"Cold?"

She turned at his voice, smiling faintly.

" A little."

"Here, I don't need this." He handed her his heavy cloak.

She shook her head. "I'm fine, really. You'll freeze."

She sat down, leaning against the stone edge of the tower. He sat next to her, and ignored her protest by draping his cloak out like a blanket over both of them. She smiled faintly.

He sighed. "Another boring day. But I'm glad for that. At least you weren't getting stabbed in Muggle Studies. I'm not sure I could handle it again."

She laughed faintly, ignoring the shock on his face at the sound. She never laughed.

"I figured as much. I thought that maybe you couldn't handle it. But you have to let me stand up to her. I need to."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I know that. I get that. But I just can't watch." He laughed harshly then. "The only Death Eater who hates to watch pain."

She looked up at his face. It was unusually grim.

"Shh," she whispered. "It wasn't your choice, remember? You have to stop thinking like that."

He sighed. "I know."

She half-smiled again. He seemed to examine her smile.

"What is it?" she whispered, brushing his cheek uncertainly. He looked up, surprised.

"You're… different today."

She laughed again, proving him right. "I know."

"Happier."

"Yes," she agreed. "And I don't even know why. I just am. I felt so… light all day. Free."

He looked at her deeply.

"I like it when you're happy."

She smiled, hiding her surprise at his open words. They were so touchingly honest, so completely open that it almost made her want to cry.

There was a pause then, but it wasn't awkward. He didn't need a response; he could probably guess her thoughts anyway.

"You know what?" she asked after an immeasurable amount of time.

"What?" It was a whisper.

She looked at him, and half-smiled, feeling the unthinking happiness again.

"I feel like me again."


	11. I Don't Know Why I Did That

Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter.

Okay, I need to write a huge author's note. I am so sorry I haven't updated in months. Really, I don't have many excuses. I've had a bit of writer's block, and I also have been busy. But mostly, I just kind of forgot my ideas for this story. My outline is kind of brief and i didn't want Draco to get repetitive. I hope I can update more quickly next time, but I have no promises :(. I really am sorry, but I wanted this chapter to be good. i think it's a bit different from the others, simply because I haven't written in so long, and I can't completely recapture my writing style of before. But I think this is also because over time, you grow as a writer, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. I also think it's a bit longer. Many apologies, and enjoy!

Please Review

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When he awoke, he could see the sun shining. He smiled.

It felt like it had rained for days on end, and that the sun was just coming out. Symbolically, he realized, it was.

No more emotional pain.

Of course, he wasn't talking about himself, so he couldn't be sure of that. He was talking about her, as he always was. Her emotional pain was his emotional pain. She affected him that much.

That made him inexplicably happy. For no good reason. Or for a very good reason.

She wasn't completely healed, of course. It would probably take a while until she was really Ginny again. But this was a start.

He got out of bed, feeling refreshed. Feeling happy. His mood, he was sure, was connected to hers. He felt alive again.

Of course, he reminded himself, she might be stabbed again in front of him. No more emotional pain, but plenty of physical pain.

He winced. Well, if she could handle it, so could he. If this was the price he had to pay… well, he'd think about it.

Watching her in pain was hard enough. Watching her in pain and proud of the fact that she was… well that was a different story.

But it was her choice, wasn't it? She was a fighter. This was who she was. He should know that by now. She would not sit back and nail her mouth shut. She couldn't handle that. She could only fight back, no matter how unwise that was.

That was what he was learning. He was discovering who she was. It seemed to take a while, because basically, he couldn't learn who she was when she wasn't herself. But he was bringing her back, the firecracker of a girl he had noticed and even admired in earlier years.

He hadn't liked her. No, not at all. But he had admired her feisty, edgy, fiery spirit before. He had always noticed her strength. She didn't back down from insults, she returned them with equal force and passion. That was who she was.

She was intelligent. Not top of the class or anything, but she was smart. She was good at magic. He could practically still feel the sting of the Bat Bogey Hex back in his fifth year. Lethal, that thing had been.

He looked in the mirror. He was smiling.

He didn't usually like reflecting on the past, it mostly made him hate himself. Last year had been full of mistakes. Looking at his past made him feel worthless and foolish. He had been naïve and stupid and made a thousand mistakes.

But looking at her past was different. Even if he realized what mistakes he had made concerning her, he could remember her past without him, and appreciate it. He could admire the lively, enchanting girl she had been – the girl she was becoming again – and think that she was a thousand times better than him. Because, no matter what _her_ parents had taught her since birth, she was a good person. She was different than him. She was better than him.

It was simple. But it was something he could not have accepted before. She was a good person. He was not.

But maybe, by being her friend, he was getting there.

He made his way to breakfast. He felt like he was seeing differently.

Because when he looked at the fellow members of his House, all he saw was desperation. They were trying to be who they were meant to be, even though few of them understood that. They thought they wanted the lives people had forced on them. They were liars, all of them.

They were too young, too inexperienced, to understand the blurry, grey world they were in. They thought they understood their place. But how could they? They couldn't see the other side. They didn't know the meaning of fear. They didn't know the meaning of courage.

He turned his gaze to the Gryffindor table, and saw it. Because they knew. Ginny Weasley was not the only fighter left.

They knew what loss really meant. They knew danger and destruction and pain. Beyond that, they knew courage. It was what their House had always professed to hold. And every last one of them, down to Neville Longbottom sitting near the end, had it. They were brave. They were so fucking brave.

His gaze washed over the table and his eyes met hers. He could see everything in her eyes. She saw it too.

This was why she was proud. This was who she was. This was who she always had been.

This was why he was a Slytherin. He couldn't face this shit. It made him scared. It was her who could look it in the eye and confront it. Confront who people were and who they could be.

He wondered for a moment what she saw he could be.

The day wandered by in a haze. He felt like for the first time in his life, he could tell who people were. How they lied. Why they lied.

It was actually watched Blaise Zabini that proved this to him.

He and Blaise had always been best mates, since they were children. They came from well-bred, respectable families and were introduced to one another when very young. They had both known they would be Slytherins, and had both known what the future held for them. They were both cunning, sly, and craved glory. Last year, Blaise had often questioned him on what was up with him, and he had seen the envy in his friend's eyes. He knew the Blaise had wanted what he had. He knew Blaise would have cherished it.

He thought, beyond anything, that he knew who Blaise Zabini was.

But, watching him that day proved otherwise.

Blaise seemed quieter this year. He still bragged of his position in the war ahead, bragged how his 'Master' loved him, bragged away because although there was no Dark Mark on his arm, who cared? He'd get one soon enough, because he wasn't a failure like that Draco Malfoy.

But still. He didn't have the same energy this year, and that day, the great failure Draco Malfoy discovered why.

He was a liar.

While he boasted of his dark accomplishments, he was just as desperate to get out of them. And the twisted bit was that so were the grinning, adoring listeners.

It was sick how desperate everyone's façade was.

He was done with that. He was so goddamn sick of pretending. He had all of last year. He had been so fucking scared and no one had seen it but Albus Dumbledore. His parents still believed this was his destiny. But he was finding the strength to say it aloud, this broken truth. If it was only to one person in the entire fucked up world, he was finding to strength to say it.

He had one hero in the world.

And speaking of being a hero, Muggle Studies class felt like shit again. There she was, with a well-timed witty remark on the tip of her tongue. She was good, too. He would laugh if it was worth it. But it just left him feeling sick as her right wrist was slashed. He crimson blood trickled down her arm, but she never flinched. She never even looked at it. She just sat there, her head held high, staring at the their professor with a strange look on her face. It was… pity.

Dinner felt foolish and worthless. He didn't speak a word, and left quickly. He felt different today. He felt like life was changing.

When he reached the Astronomy tower, he wanted to scream and curse. It was goddamn raining.

He stood there, glaring at the offending sky, and feeling pathetic.

"It's only rain, you know," came her soft voice behind him.

He spun around immediately. "I know that," he said defensively. "But it's just been a kind of shitty day and… I don't know. Do you want to go somewhere else?"

She shook her head and mysteriously half-smiled at him. "I like the rain," she whispered. She leaned her arms down on the ledge of the tower, and looked up at the sky. She was getting soaked.

He slid down the ledge, and sat there, pathetically, and leaned his head against the stone. It seemed like she cleared his mind.

Soon, she sat beside him. She looked at her lap.

"I… I'm sorry."

He whipped his head up. He stared at her.

"About Muggle Studies," she clarified softly.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stones. "Don't apologize."

"Well, I… just so you know… it doesn't hurt so much. I guess… it's worth it."

He bit his lip. No, it was not worth it. It made hardly any difference, and it was always her, bleeding. Few others offered themselves as carving blocks. That blood, dripping down her skin, could not possibly be worth it. Nothing could be worth witnessing this.

Would it be worse if she actually responded to the pain? Or was it worse to watch her sit there still and unmoving, so inhumanly taking the blood and the pain? Did she think she deserved it? How could she sit there and wait for someone to slit her wrists just for speaking?

How could it ever, _ever_, be worth it?

She was watching him closely. She was sitting very close to him and he could see how her gaze flickered from his left eye to his right as she looked at him, concerned.

"How can you possibly tell me that it's worth it?"

Her face twisted a little, as if she couldn't really explain the answer. "It just is to me, Draco. I feel it. I know it. These cuts," she gestured to her arms and cheek, "they'll go away in time. They'll heal. But if I don't fight for myself, don't fight for what's right, I'll never heal. I will never forgive myself. So a few injuries are worth it to me."

She stood up and leaned against the ledge, staring at the stars. "Those types of people don't understand it. Spilling my blood is hardly the worst thing they could do to me. Hurting me physically is worth nothing. They don't understand emotion, Draco. They don't understand how when you hurt on the inside, it's a million times worse than any torture they can inflict on me."

He stared at her. He would never understand her.

"Today," he began, "after she…cut you, you looked at her. And—and, you had this look on your face, like, well, I don't know, like you pitied her or something.

She looked at him sadly for a moment. The rain dripped down her cheeks like tears.

"I do pity her."

He just looked at her sad, brown eyes.

"Don't you see Draco? Our side may never win this war, but at least we're fighting because we believe in this. She's fighting because that what she's been told to do since she was born. If she had grown up with my parents, and I with hers, our roles would be reversed. I feel sorry for her. She doesn't have any real emotions but the ones she's been taught to have. People have told her to hate me, Draco, so she does. She can't feel. She can't even think."

He licked his lips. He tasted salt. "Do feel sorry for me, then?"

She almost smiled at him. "No," she whispered.

He blinked.

She clarified. "You're not like her, you know. You were taught the same bullshit, but unlike her, you felt something. You're a different type of person, Draco. Because you have a brain. You can think past what people have told you. You believe in yourself, and you see the errors in everything they've told you. You might never break free of them, Draco, but even so, you are the best person on that side of the war. Because you, Draco Malfoy, have a heart."

And in that moment, he honestly didn't know why he did it, but in that moment of liberation, he pressed his lips to hers.

It was short, but sweet. Her lips, though unresponsive due to shock, were soft and warm and felt, there was no other word for it, _right_ against his. But as soon as he realized what he'd done, he pulled away.

He couldn't look at her shocked face. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know why I did that."

And with that he got up and left the tower, leaving a shocked Ginny behind in the rain, her fingers brushing uncertainly over her lips.


End file.
